


Nightlight

by dnofsunshine



Category: Digimon - All Media Types, Digimon Adventure Zero Two | Digimon Adventure 02
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Brotherly Bonding, Child Abduction, Child Death, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Is Alive, Friendship, Gen, Illusions, Injured Character, Mentions of Death, Mild Language, Near Death Experiences, Nightmares, Not to be taken as canonically accurate, Overprotective Yamato, Post-Season/Series 02, Supernatural Elements, Suspense, Takaishida-centric, Takeru needs a hug, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:43:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 77,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22355833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dnofsunshine/pseuds/dnofsunshine
Summary: Yamato thinks it is normal for kids to have imaginary friends… until he learns that the things his younger brother talks to in the late hours of the night are far too real, and they are not friendly. Possible trigger warning.
Relationships: Ishida Yamato | Matt Ishida & Takaishi Takeru | T.K. Takaishi, Takaishi Takeru | T.K. Takaishi & Chosen Children | DigiDestined
Comments: 38
Kudos: 53





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ToastyToaster22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToastyToaster22/gifts).



> As always, **please read the tags and be safe!**
> 
> Somebody requested that I post more of my digimon fics on here, so I'm gonna do it! :) This is kind of an AU, but like... not really. The Takaishida divorce is pushed back till 1996, and nothing is meant to be taken as canonically accurate. Thank you for reading! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

**00 || Prologue**

[nine years ago: 9 April 1995; 2:50 a.m.]

The sharp crackle of thunder catapulted seven-year-old Yamato out of slumber.

His blankets were tossed aside as he drew in a hushed, panicked breath, although he paid little attention to where the covers landed. Small, tremoring hands instinctively rose to cup his ears, but the booming sound slipped easily through the thin cracks of his fingers, and he swore the entire room shook from the intensity.

It was a storm. Just a storm.

His eyes clamped shut without his consent upon realizing this, and a tiny pulse of childish anxiety coaxed them to remain closed. He never disliked the rain, but the deafening sound of thunder and white claws of lighting always broke the lock on his box of decidedly ridiculous fears: too much noise, too much movement, mixed brief flashes of light that could only reach certain parts of his room. Half illuminated, half bathed in darkness. This left plenty of space for his mind to wander.

His sleep-clogged brain always conjured disturbing images of things which only existed in the realm of fantasy. Things that made his heartbeat quicken until it roared underneath his ribcage like an enraged animal. Things that whispered of malice and danger and a desire to inflict harm on young, unsuspecting souls. Things that hid in the darkest shadows of a child's imagination. Perhaps there was a monster resting quietly under the bed, waiting with patient excitement to be discovered; or a tree limb scraping lightly against the delicate glass of a windowpane, soon to be mistaken for an unknown entity asking to be let in.

And it was these thoughts—however foolish and irrational they might be—that caused Yamato to retreat further into his bed. It was small, but so was he, so when his back brushed against his headboard, he had an overwhelming urge to crawl behind it as if it promised safety.

Except he could not. Because then the wood would creak and such a raucous would surely wake Takeru up.

Takeru.

Yamato's eyes popped open as soon as his younger brother's name ricocheted through his mind and they skittered quickly around to locate him. His first instinct was to be ashamed that he had allowed himself to appear so frightened in front of Takeru. But shame shifted into confusion when he realized the space next to him which Takeru so regularly occupied was vacant.

Very slowly, his hands came to rest on his bedsheets, and his gaze searched his room a second time. His eyes failed to find him, however, and his cycle of panic began anew.

"Takeru?" he said, his voice too soft, too quiet in comparison to the storm raging outside the protection of the apartment walls. When there was no reply, he called again. Again. The results were the same.

Quietly, Yamato's legs slipped over the side of his bed. It was built for one person, but Takeru would be four this year and was very small, so he easily fit in by Yamato's side. It was also close enough to the ground for him to crawl over the edge.

As his eyes adjusted somewhat to the dark, Yamato once again pushed back the fear that someone—or, rather, _something_ —could leap out of hiding and snatch him and ventured toward their bedroom door. It did not take him long to notice that it was slightly ajar, and he swallowed thickly. Why would Takeru have left? Did he have to use the bathroom? Takeru was young enough that usually he did not wake up in time to make it to the toilet, and it happened more often than not.

Still, Yamato widened the door enough so he could slip through, pressing one hand against the wall as if it could act as his guide. His socks muted the sound of his footsteps, although he supposed it did not matter. The heavy torrent of rain blocked out noises that would have easily been too loud if the night was quiet.

"Takeru," he whispered again, peering quickly into the kitchen before deciding it was too dark to see him. The counters blocked his view anyway, and he didn't want to risk turning on the light for fear of waking up his mom or dad. "Takeru, where'd you go?"

A small yelp escaped his lips as one of his toes found a wooden chair. The dining table. He'd wandered away from the wall, he realized. One of his hands quickly rose to cover his lips as if he could pretend he never made a sound, but once again, the storm did just that. If Takeru had answered him, Yamato wasn't sure if he could hear him, and that made him even more nervous.

Finally, he came to the bathroom door and was confused when he thought he heard the sound of water running. Takeru was not tall enough to turn on the sink unless he used the stepstool in the kitchen. When his hands pushed the door open, his confusion skyrocketed.

Takeru's voice, low and innocently curious:

"Why do you want to hide in here?"

Yamato's eyes widened slightly, realizing that despite the way the door creaked, Takeru was unaware of Yamato's presence. But who was he talking to? Maybe Mama was in there with him, but there was no crevice of light seeping through the door that signaled someone had switched it on. And Takeru was not a child who would willingly sit alone in a dark room in the middle of a thunderstorm.

"Yeah, Nii-chan would like you," Takeru continued suddenly, although Yamato did not hear a second voice ask the question which he had so confidently answered. "Mama and Daddy, too!"

There was a squeak as if someone had turned off the faucet. The water stopped running.

"...what do you need water f— _whoa._ "

Glass shattering. Yamato burst through the door as soon as the sound erupted in his ears, and he heard rather than saw Takeru stumbling back into the wall. Which one, he was not certain, and his hand automatically dusted over the light switch with the intention of turning it on. His lips parted to call out his younger brother's name, but all sound was muted as soon as he entered the room.

Large, colorless gemlike eyes peered down at him, searching him, almost right through his skin. Eyes without pupils. Eyes that belonged to a shadow which somehow appeared darker than the rest of the room, thick and misty; and it stretched all the way to the ceiling, fluttering in place as if there was a candle burning. Instantly Yamato felt so small, as though he was a speck of dirt waiting to be brushed away.

The longer he stood there, the bigger the eyes seemed to become. Wider. Wider.

Closer.

Close enough that he could almost feel the weight of its luminous gaze: heavy and gross and suffocating, ready to push him out.

Yamato, barely seven years old, did the only thing he could think of to do once he found his voice: he screamed.

"TAKERU!"

He wanted to run; to grab Takeru and leave, because whatever that thing was, it definitely did not seem friendly, but his legs were frozen in place and before he could try to figure out how to move them, the loud pounding of footsteps reached his ears and light swept over him.

Yamato's gaze was instantly drawn to the doorway, where his exhausted and horrified mother and father stood. Hands rested on his shoulders in seconds, and his mom was touching his cheeks, his neck, his hair.

"Yamato, what is it, honey? What's wrong?"

He did not realize he was shaking until that moment: a soft tremor that started somewhere in the base of his toes, building and building and building until he was an untameable earthquake. Mama was still asking questions, and he was looking at her but his frightened brain could not process her words. Instead, his gaze wandered to his younger brother, who was now staring at him with tear-glossed, wide eyes.

"O-Onii-chan…?"

Where had that shadow gone? It had been there seconds ago, hadn't it? Or was his brain too filled with sleep? His brother had been talking to _something._

"Are you awake, Yamato?" Mama said quietly. Vigilantly. "Look at me, honey. Are you _awake?_ "

He nodded mutely, too overwhelmed with shock and confusion to give a verbal response at first. Then, tremorously: "Takeru was… talking to someone…"

"What're you two doing up?" his dad asked, holding Takeru carefully and making sure he had not been cut by shards of glass scattered dangerously over the tile. He lifted Takeru up effortlessly and maneuvered around it with as much grace as someone could have this late at night. Then he looked at Yamato, who still stood trembling under the light switch, sleepy and confused and somewhat terrified. The bathroom seemed so small now that all four of them were crowded in it, and he almost winced when his mom brushed away loose strands of hair from his eyes.

"Yamato?"

"The rain," he mumbled. "It was too loud."

This time, his parents shared a weird look. Shifting Takeru in his arms, his dad slid past Yamato and his mom, nearly bumping the doorframe as he exited the room. Mama continued to caress his face, examining him more closely now. Then her fingers dusted against his forehead as though she thought he had a fever.

"You're not too warm," she murmured, but the look of worry seemed to be permanently etched across her face, refusing to fade.

Dad came back through with Takeru still nestled in his arms. Said softly, "It's not raining, kiddo. The ground's not even wet."

What…? Yamato finally regained control of his limbs, and he scrambled past his mom with such haste that he almost tripped. Now that his path was illuminated by the light of the bathroom, it didn't take him long to reach his room, but he still stumbled as he ran through the doorway. His feet carried him all the way to his window, eyes wide with fear and disbelief.

Dad was right. It was not raining. His window was dry, and from where he stood he did not see any puddles. His fingers quaked against the window sill, and it was not long before his mom's hands were once again cupped over his shoulders.

"I heard thunder, Mama," he said as he faced her. It was true, even if the expression on Mama's face told him she didn't believe him. What else could have woke him? "It was so loud—I _heard_ it."

"Shhh... it must have been a dream, baby," she told him, before reaching for his hands and coaxing him back to the bed he shared with Takeru. "C'mon, let's get you two back to bed. What were you doing in the bathroom, Takeru? Did you have to pee?" And then, to his dad: "I told you not to leave glass cups where the kids could reach them, Hiro."

Takeru rubbed his right eye, looking suddenly very sleepy. "Hibiki was talking to me."

Their dad blinked. "Hibiki?"

"My friend," Takeru said. "She... was showin' me—" The rest of his words were swallowed by a yawn, and Yamato felt fear creep underneath his skin.

Friend. Takeru's friends. Since he could form coherent sentences, Takeru had been telling him all about his friends, most of whom Yamato thought were, well, in his head. Kids had make-believe companions, after all, and Takeru—despite being so young—had a big imagination which was destined to only grow bigger.

Except that shadow did not seem so imaginary.

His mother, however, just gave him a tired smile and said, "Tell Hibiki that you should be sleeping and she'll have to talk to you when it's not so late. Ok?"

Takeru nodded silently, but his eyelids were drooping and he looked ready to fall into slumber at any second. Yamato did not stop his mom when she lifted him into their bed. Takeru was placed right next to him, and without hesitation, his brother curled by Yamato's hip. Yamato did not want to admit it, but at that moment, he was probably more comforted by Takeru's presence than Takeru was his.

He swallowed back a sudden lump in his throat, and before he knew it, both boys were engulfed by a warm blanket. Dad said to him, "Go to sleep, ok, buddy?"

"But—"

"No buts, Yamato."

Yamato turned to face his little brother, whose eyes were already closed. Then he looked up at his dad, fingers clutching his blanket tightly. Spoke in a hushed voice: "It was raining, I swear!"

Mama pushed through slowly, sending his dad in the other direction with that same smile that screamed exhaustion on her face, and she murmured, "Sometimes, our dreams are so vivid that it feels like they actually happened. That's normal."

Yamato swallowed thickly, trying to process what she was saying. His mind was racing still, and he was tired but now too afraid to fall asleep. The booming thunder was what had caused him to wake up, and the pouring rain had continued as he trekked to the bathroom in search of Takeru. He did not understand.

His expression must have said it all, because Mama asked, "Do you want me to plug in the nightlight tonight?"

He didn't remember nodding, but all of a sudden his mom was heading toward the opposite side of the room. He heard Dad shuffling somewhere outside his bedroom, and the sound of glass clinking together resonated through the hallway. He had left to pick up the blizzard of shards on the bathroom floor.

How his mom had located such a tiny object in a room that was still decidedly dark, Yamato did not know. But she had, and suddenly the room was partially bathed in a mellow, comforting light that flowed across the floor like water.

Mama leaned over to brush her lips against his forehead—a soothing gesture—and ruffled his hair gently. Lowered her voice so she would not wake the now slumbering Takeru: "Good night, honey. I love you."

He murmured, "I love you," and then watched her shuffle out of the room, clicking the door shut as she did so. Carefully, Yamato tugged his and Takeru's blanket upward so it was up to his chin, eyes still scanning the room anxiously as if the shadows could pull loose from their corners to create the being he swore he'd saw minutes ago.

He also did not remember seeing a glass cup anywhere in the bathroom before he went to bed, so where had Takeru retrieved it from? Dad didn't really leave it out, did he? There was no way Takeru could have gotten it all by himself. He was too short to climb onto the counter without some sort of help. Yamato swallowed again.

Looked back at his brother, breathing deeply and slowly, looking so tiny and fragile.

Rolled on his side, sliding an arm protectively over him, pulling him so close that Takeru's head was buried in the crook of Yamato's neck.

Whispered quietly, "I won't let the shadow get you, Takeru. _I promise._ "


	2. Hello

**Ch 01 || Hello**

[present day: 22 February 2004; 1:26 p.m.]

The railway station is a world all its own: busy, loud, and full of life. Noise and people are everywhere, hustling, rushing, chasing time, trying to stay on schedule. They push and pull. They tug and shove. Apologies are not guaranteed, and when they are offered, they are hushed and quick and awkward. Children and adults roam the platforms without order, raising their voices only to be drowned out by the powerful thrusts of the locomotives and the animated swarm of people.

For a Sunday afternoon, this shouldn't be surprising. And it definitely isn't the first train Takeru has been on, so he usually isn't bothered by it much. Except there's a mild thrum in his head that's been present all weekend, and Patamon is clinging to his beanie with exaggerated force, trying to be as still as possible. He's almost lost his grip on the green paper bag in his right hand more times than he can count.

This makes crowd unsettling, so the first thing Takeru wants is to get away from it. He's sure his friends wish to do the same.

He is proven right when he feels a hand rest on his shoulder. Fingers dig into the shell of his coat, and when he turns to find out who it is, he finds Hikari gazing somewhat nervously back at him. She isn't fond of being swamped by people, either. It doesn't help that she's struggling to keep Tailmon from falling out of her coat.

"Maybe this was a bad idea," she says loudly, tightening her grip as though she is afraid he will be lost in the crowd if she lets go.

Takeru's response is to laugh, even though he's thinking the same thing deep inside. "Train stations are always like this, Hika."

"Yeah, but—don't you think—"

Takeru doesn't catch the rest of her sentence, but he does hear Daisuke shout, "Oi! Guys, there's an exit!"

"Where?" Iori's voice is somewhere in front of him, loud as well.

"This way!"

"Are you sure?" Miyako asks frantically. Takeru swears he sees a puff of pink: Poromon.

"I've been in this place a bazillion times! Of course, I'm sure!"

Takeru feels a sharp tug, and all of a sudden Hikari's fingers on his shoulder are gone. Then Hikari is in front of him, being dragged forward by an excited and cheerful Daisuke. She hurries to extend her hand once more, and Takeru laughs again, trying to grab it before he loses sight of her.

He feels Patamon's paws slip as Takeru increases his pace. Oops. His beanie is falling off, and Patamon is desperately gripping at his hair. But it isn't long before Takeru sees the door Daisuke's leading them to, and he hopes his digimon partner can hold on for just a few more moments.

"Freedom," Miyako gushes when they reach the outdoors. Poromon flies out of her jacket without having to be prompted, looking as happy as his partner.

Takeru breathes a sigh of relief, releasing Hikari's hand so he can fix his hat and ensure that Patamon is ok. The air is less repressive out here, but it's more than a little chilly, and so he has to make sure, "Is it too cold for you?"

"Nah. It was pretty stuffy in there," Patamon answers, shifting his weight slightly. Takeru starts to laugh but winces when his hair is accidentally pulled. Settles for a smile instead, reaching up once again to stroke the little guy's spine. His fur is warm.

Chibomon pops out of Daisuke's half-unzipped backpack with a frown. His eyes are glistening with disappointment when he questions Daisuke, "How come he gets to sit up there, but you stuffed me in a bag?"

"Shhh," Daisuke hurries to say. He pulls Chibomon out anyway, his expression turning sheepish. "Sorry, buddy. You know I didn't want to do it."

"But Patamon at least knows how to stay still, and you don't," Tailmon continues for him flatly as she slides out of the front of Hikari's coat. She leaps to the ground, shaking her fur as though it is wet. Hikari giggles, pulling on a pair of mittens.

"Who's going to mistake him for a stuffed toy, when he's sitting on Takeru's head like that?" Upamon asks with a pout. Iori had been hiding him in a pack as well since his hands were decidedly full with paper bags.

Patamon sticks his tongue out playfully, and Iori pats Upamon's head sympathetically as everyone begins to walk in the opposite direction of the Tamachi station. This time, when Takeru smiles, it's accompanied by a laugh, and he can't help but feel for his friends' partners. He knows how much Patamon hates being confined to a backpack. He can't bring himself to hide Patamon anymore while he's on Earth, even though he knows he should. But there were so many people in the train station preoccupied with crying kids and phone calls that Patamon's presence had gone unnoticed.

Miyako is laughing as well, unbuttoning the rest of her jacket. "I'm just happy to be out of there. It's getting ready to snow, and I'm sweating."

"It's a good thing we left early," Hikari says as she falls in step with Takeru and Miyako.

"Yeah," he agrees, still smiling. "Guess so."

"Did anyone let Ken know we were coming?" Iori asks.

Daisuke stops walking. His face bleeds panic for a few moments, and then he looks sheepish. Raises a hand to scratch the back of his neck, chuckling nervously. "Um."

"You're kidding," Miyako deadpans, frowning.

Takeru laughs again, and so do Hikari and Iori. Chibomon climbs up Daisuke's shoulder as he raises his hands in mock defense. "Hey, don't look at me."

"You said you were going to tell him," Miyako retorts, crossing her arms.

Daisuke falls quiet. Offers another timid grin. Turns to start walking again.

" _Daisuke._ "

"I'm getting my d-terminal," Daisuke tells her as he reaches into his pocket for said device.

She huffs, but Takeru can see it in her eyes that she's not as upset as she's putting on. Ken's apartment is still a block or two away, anyway, so it's not really a big deal. At least Takeru hopes so.

The rest of the walk is filled with light conversation and laughter and good-natured teasing. Takeru shivers even though he is wearing a coat, thankful that the inside of Ken's apartment complex is warm because, while his friends don't seem particularly bothered by the weather, Takeru isn't so fond of the cold. He wishes he had remembered to bring gloves. His fingers are frozen, and that does little to help his headache. Hopes Patamon isn't as cold as he is.

Still, they stand eagerly in front of the door, thawing out, waiting for Ken to answer. It isn't long before he does, and as soon the door clicks open, Daisuke's at the front of the group, practically glomping Ken. He nearly drops his gift in the process.

"Happy birthday, Ken!"

This is echoed by many other voices, including the digimon, and Ken expels a somewhat surprised laugh, slowly returning Daisuke's sudden embrace. His face is dusted light pink and he murmurs shyly, "Tha-thanks, you guys. Come in."

More hugs are given and received. Laughter echoes in the doorway as Ken widens it so they can enter, revealing a relatively tidy living room and kitchen. It's not small, but it's not too big. Plenty of space for six children and their strange (but loveable) monster friends. Takeru slips his shoes off carefully and sheds his coat, clenching and unclenching his hands to get the blood running in them again. He's instantly hit with the aroma of chocolate.

"Ken-chan, it looks like they've brought presents," Minomon exclaims, hopping ecstatically around Takeru's legs.

Ken hurries to pull the little digimon into his arms, and his expression is a mixture of guilt and gratitude. "I told you, you didn't have to do that."

"Of course we did," Miyako tells him as she lays a small box on the coffee table parallel to the sofa. Takeru follows in suit, and it isn't long before there's a small pile of gifts. "We're your friends."

Daisuke is beaming. "What kind of friends would we be if we came empty-handed?"

The flush on Ken's face darkens considerably. He offers a small, grateful smile. "Thanks."

Footsteps. Takeru glances up, taking in Ken's mother's delighted expression. "Oh, that's wonderful, your friends are here." She's bundled up as if to go outside, holding her purse. "I have to make a quick run to the store with your father, but we'll be back shortly. He's got the car running. You kids have fun, ok?"

"We will, Ichijouji-san," Hikari says politely with a bow. Takeru bows as well upon seeing the gesture, holding Patamon close.

"Be careful," Ken tells her as she opens the door. "It's supposed to snow a little bit soon."

She nods in response, her smile gentle and kind as she exits the apartment. Ken turns to face them, asking shyly, "Would you guys like some tea? I started to make brownies, but"—he tosses a brief, nervous glance toward the kitchen—"I guess I didn't finish them in time."

Miyako peers around the corner. "We could help you finish them."

"Unless you want to open your gifts first," Chibomon says, shooting him a toothy grin.

"Iori's grandpa got you prune juice," Upamon blurts.

Iori nudges him with a frown. "Upamon! Presents are supposed to be a surprise."

Ken's cheeks light up again. He shifts awkwardly on his feet, and then murmurs with a small smile, "It's ok. We, um, we can do the presents later, if that's ok. I really wanted to have a snack for you guys before you got here."

Daisuke grabs his arm. "It's cool, Ken. C'mon, let's make some brownies!"

Takeru laughs. Daisuke's always been chirpy, and Ken's pretty timid. It's a nice balance. Much like the way Miyako's spunky personality blends with Hikari's calm, reserved nature. Patamon flies off his head with a cry of excitement because, well, sugar. Except the kitchen is small, so piling everyone in is a bit of a challenge.

So it gets crowded.

He, Iori, and Hikari eventually decide to stay on the opposite side of the counter—something for which Takeru is grateful, because his head still aches faintly, and the last thing he wants to do is get sick at a birthday party. Hikari giggles and reminds him, she's not much help in the kitchen, anyway. So they watch in amusement as Ken tells them he's already got all of the ingredients out, politely stepping over a bundle of excited digimon.

And it gets messy.

Flour. Cocoa. Eggs. Sugar. Butter. With baby-level digimon hopping around on the floor, it's really hard not to lose your balance and make a mess—something which is soon proven by Daisuke and Miyako. Daisuke drops an egg. And knocks over the flour. Miyako snorts and mocks him, except she's holding a mixing spoon, so when she inclines her head back with laughter, the batter-caked utensil brushes against her hair. Which means, ugh, she needs a new spoon, and, "How am I supposed to get this out?"

And it gets loud.

Takeru laughs alongside Hikari and Iori, ignoring the sharp tug in his brain when Chibomon releases a shrill cry of anguish, for Daisuke has just told him that he has to sit still or leave the kitchen. Pushes it down. Down. The digimon are chatting happily, looking forward to a sugary treat. Takeru and Hikari finally decide to come back to the rescue, swooping down to collect three small, energy-packed monsters. Ken now has an opportunity to pour the brownie batter into an appropriately-sized pan and pops it in the oven. Tailmon is rolling her eyes, and Patamon has once again decided Takeru's head is the safest place to sit. Takeru tries once again to ignore the pain that comes with his partner's not-so-gentle landing.

Then they're cleaning up, and Miyako and Daisuke are bickering like they are siblings. Everyone moves to the front room again, and Takeru sips slowly at his tea, sitting at the foot of the sofa. Silence filters through the group as the excitement of the cooking adventure ebbs.

Takeru enjoys the quiet while it lasts, and then thinks himself rude for having such thoughts. It's a birthday party. It's supposed to be loud and lively and filled with laughter—

"So what should we do while the brownies are in the oven?" Daisuke asks, plopping unceremoniously onto the couch.

"We could play a game," Hikari suggests casually with a shrug.

Miyako tilts her head slightly. "What kind of game?"

Hikari falls silent as though thinking. Takeru blinks, gazing up at Patamon. Patamon peers down at him curiously, and Takeru laughs when Patamon slides forward by accident, covering one of his eyes with his beanie. "Hide and seek, maybe?"

Daisuke laughs. It's not a mocking gesture, though. "Man, I haven't played that since I was a kid."

"A reason to play," Takeru says, his grin widening a fraction.

There's a small pause where they all just stare at each other, considering. Then Miyako mirrors Takeru's free-spirited grin, and she says, "That actually sounds pretty fun."

Iori glances around slowly. "Your apartment looks like it's got a lot of decent hiding places," he says to Ken.

Ken's response is a small smile. "Well, we've got thirty minutes more to kill, don't we?"

Miyako's on her feet in seconds as though she's already mapped out all possible hiding places in her head. Takeru chuckles at her enthusiasm, and then everyone else is standing as well. Poromon asks, "What's hide and seek?"

Miyako launches into an explanation regarding the game's rules and how to follow them. When she is finished, she looks around and asks, "Who wants to count?"

"I want to hide," Chibomon declares.

"Me, too," Poromon adds.

This is echoed by the other baby-level digimon, and eventually, Daisuke says, "Ok, ok, you guys go hide, and I'll be it. Sound good?"

Takeru laughs again as they cheer, and he sees Tailmon roll her eyes goodnaturedly. The group decides to, out of respect, keep out of Ken's parents' room, and Daisuke slides out the door, giving everyone a thumbs up to signal the start of the game. It isn't long before they're looking around to find spots to hide.

Takeru pauses, thinking. Patamon has not moved from his customary place atop his head, so he assumes that wherever he goes, Patamon will follow. Miyako's heading toward the kitchen with a devious glint in her eyes, and he sees Iori and Upamon wander toward the bathroom.

"You don't mind if I hide in there, do you?" he asks Ken in a whisper, jabbing his thumb in the direction of his friend's bedroom.

Ken shrugs. "Go for it."

Hikari brushes against his shoulder, and Takeru shoots her a mischievous smile. She winks, pointing toward the back hallway with a giggle. "Keep the light off... he might walk right past it," she murmurs before walking away.

With a roll of his eyes, Takeru ventures toward the room. It's dark enough for him to simply hug the shadows. It shouldn't be hard to—

Sharp, debilitating pain bullets through Takeru's temples the instant he enters Ken's bedroom. He stumbles, pressing one hand to the wall to steady himself while raising the other to cradle his head. It feels like somebody hit him with a brick. Hard. His eyes squeeze shut without his consent, and a low hiss of pain escapes his lips.

"Takeru?" Patamon whispers immediately, worry tinging his voice.

He's floating somewhere above Takeru's head, but he sounds so far away all of a sudden. Takeru sucks in a slow breath, trying to dispel the unexpected wave of nausea that accompanies the stab of pain in his skull.

"I'm... I'm ok," he assures softly after a long pause. Chews the inside of his lip. The ache dulls as soon as it had come; fades into a mild throb. Takeru is left disoriented and blinking rapidly, trying to calm his stomach and mind. "That was... weird."

"What was?"

Patamon's fluttering in front of his face now, his expression slightly fearful. Takeru expels a quiet sigh. "Just... just a headache, buddy. Go find a hiding spot, ok?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." A soft smile. "Really, I'm ok. Go hide."

"...alright," Patamon says with uncertainty. Takeru watches as his partner flies up to the top of Ken's loft bed, and Takeru slides into the thin space behind Ken's open bedroom door. It's probably a pathetic hiding spot—if Daisuke thinks to look through the small crevice where the hinges are, he'll be spotted immediately—but he doesn't care. Presses his body against the wall, resisting the urge to rub his temples.

He's had this headache all weekend, but until that moment, it was just a soft thrum: an unpleasant, but tolerable ache. Easy to brush off. Easy to ignore. So that's what Takeru has done. But the dizzying flash of intense pain is new, and that's what confuses him.

_It's probably nothing. Just take some aspirin when you get home._

Shaking the thought from his head, Takeru remembers he's in the middle of a game. He can still see Patamon from where he's at and sends him another reassuring smile in hopes that it will ease the concern reflecting in his partner's eyes. Then he puts his finger to his lips, signaling for the little guy to stay quiet when he hears Daisuke call out as he reenters Ken's apartment, "So, I'm done counting—"

Takeru's ears track each of Daisuke's footfalls, and he suppresses a chuckle when Daisuke releases an exasperated breath. "Chibomon... just because you're not moving doesn't mean I can't see you." Then, with a laugh: "Oh, caught you, Miyako! In the kitchen, really? Jeez, you're the one who wanted to play this game, and you're so lousy at hiding. Figures."

Some giggles. An indignant huff.

"Hey, now. The real challenge is finding Poromon," she tells him. Takeru can hear the smirk in her voice.

Daisuke falls silent. Takeru listens for his footsteps once again. The rolling of drawers. The soft pang of cabinets as Daisuke opens and closes them, searching. Searching.

Daisuke continues curiously through the flat, presumably growing bored of the kitchen, and Takeru makes sure to keep still as he passes Ken's bedroom door. Peeks through the small crack, watching as Daisuke cautiously pokes his head into the bathroom before he enters it.

Then Takeru sees a spark of blue.

Takeru blinks in shock, but the flash of color is gone within a second or two. He has to bite his lip to prevent himself from yelping in surprise as the jab of severe pain returns in his head. He flinches visibly, fingers curling into fists. Braces himself against the wall as though that will do anything to help.

He blinks again, hard and long, and swallows thickly. But this time, the pain does not ebb. In fact, each time he closes his eyes and reopens them, it worsens. Though the world is slightly blurry, he sees Daisuke exit the bathroom triumphantly with a sheepish Iori and Upamon behind him.

Following them is the same thin rope of blue he had seen moments ago, and Takeru stiffens when it veers unexpectedly through the door behind which has chosen to hide. Do they not see it? Patamon has now turned to hide underneath one of Ken's blankets, and Daisuke marches happily back into the living room with Iori and their digimon in tow. They're all blissfully unaware of its presence.

But Takeru traces its movements with his gaze, remaining incredibly still as the strange azure string floats casually up to the ceiling. Spins around and around, twirling and dancing with ominous grace. It's pretty dim in here, sure. But whatever that thing is, it's definitely there, and Takeru doesn't know how anyone could ignore it.

_What... what the heck?_

Takeru closes his eyes again and draws in a silent breath. No. It's just a headache. He's seeing things. Yeah, that's it. He has to be hallucinating. Or... or maybe he's running a fever? Fevers can cause hallucinations, right? Takeru does feel inexplicably warm—but it's not an unpleasant feeling. Just strange. His fingers are tingling and his stomach is cramping again.

Takeru takes another deep breath as he carefully peeks his eyes open. He's imagining things.

Except it's still there when he looks up. It has divided into multiple spheres, crawling achingly slowly into every corner, every dark space, of Ken's bedroom. Takeru watches, horrified and yet oddly fascinated, as they shift and sway above him. Patamon does not move from underneath the blanket on Ken's loft bed. Takeru hears Daisuke let out another victorious cry, but his friend's voice is far away.

Too far away.

The blue orbs are expanding now, exploding over the expanse of the ceiling and rolling down the walls like rivulets of water. Takeru's breath hitches; all of a sudden he cannot move. His whole body is frozen as if his chest and limbs are nailed to the wall. His voice is trapped somewhere deep in his throat.

_What is this?_ he thinks, his eyes popped wide. Fear is an injured bird trapped underneath his ribcage, thrashing and thumping but unable to find an escape. He tries to shake his head as if that will make the colors go away. But his neck still won't obey. It's like he's become a statue, still as stone. His head is burning. He stares unmoving and helpless and afraid, waiting for this to end. Waiting for relief.

Someone pokes his shoulder.

Takeru startles, and the paralysis spell is gone. He turns, thankful that he can move again.

Until he realizes that the room is still blue, and the thing staring back at him isn't one of his friends.

Hair: dead and matted. Pupilless, pearlesque eyes, piercing his own like freshly sharpened knives. The rest is all shadow, swooping down to blanket the floor, spilling over Takeru's socked feet in billowing waves of black smoke. It stretches upward as well, splayed above him like a giant spider hovering smugly over its web to observe the slow death of its prey.

The eyes narrow and then bulge outward, and they flutter closer to Takeru's face as though they are moths and Takeru is made of fire. There is no scent. But then, Takeru doesn't dare breathe. He can only stare.

"Hello," it says, low and mysterious. Robotic. Like there's a machine hiding behind those eyes. But there's a hint of curiosity and familiar innocence, similar to the voice of a young child.

Takeru flings himself further into the corner, accidentally pushing the door in the process. Then hands are on his shoulders again, clamping down hard; and he wants to scream but when his lips part, no sound comes out; and his head feels like it's going to burst—

"Dude," Daisuke is saying. "Dude. _Takeru._ Jeez, man, what's with you?"

Takeru finds himself inhaling deeply and suddenly he's staring into Daisuke's bewildered, half-scared brown eyes. He blinks repeatedly, and the pain is gone, and so is the blue, and the shadow...

He raises one of his hands to cup his head again, dazed and so very confused. "What...was that?"

"Are you ok?" Hikari asks with a frown. Her eyes burn with fear.

Takeru doesn't reply, at first. His heart is still pounding. Takes a few moments to study his surroundings. The light is on, and the door is closed. Hikari, Iori, and Daisuke are looking back at him now, appearing just as confused as he feels.

"Y-yeah," he answers shakily, before feeling Patamon's familiar weight settle on his head. He fights a wince, and the concerned expressions on his friends' faces do not fade.

_Was I... was I dreaming? Did I fall asleep?_

Someone pulls on his sleeve. Iori whispers his name.

_Oh, no,_ he tells himself, inwardly shaking his head. _This is Ken's party, and you're not about to ruin it. You can think about it later._

A little louder: "Yeah, I'm ok. Guess you startled me, huh?"

"Other than the fact that I called your name a few times, I guess," Daisuke replies slowly with his brows raised. "Did you think I was going to hit you?"

"What? No," Takeru says with a too-soft shake of his head, before pushing himself off the wall with a hopefully convincing laugh. "Maybe I just spaced out. But you know, if you didn't take so long to find me, I wouldn't have."

Daisuke blinks, burnt umber eyes still painfully uneasy, before he processes Takeru's words. His frown deepens and he says indignantly, "Hey! I came in here twice, you know, and I never saw you behind the door. I bet you moved, huh?"

"I did not." Takeru risks a swift glance up to Patamon. "You were in here the whole time, right, buddy? And besides," he adds, looking at Hikari with a grin, "Hikari watched me go in here while you were counting."

Hikari doesn't look conviced, and neither does Daisuke. But Takeru's grin expands a fraction, and Patamon confirms, "Yeah, he was there the whole time."

"Liars," Daisuke accuses.

"We're not lying," Takeru says in defense.

"But I _checked_ —"

The door swings open again, nearly hitting both Takeru and Daisuke until Miyako peeks her head in and sees where they're standing. She slips through, and Ken follows with Minomon in his arms.

Tailmon says, "Poromon's whining because you haven't found him—hey, what's with the arguing?"

"Takeru cheated," Daisuke says matter-of-factly.

"Oh. Really mature," Takeru teases, shaking his head with another chuckle.

Daisuke huffs, rolling his eyes, and exits the room with a newfound determination to locate Poromon's mysterious hiding spot. Ken shoots Takeru a confused look. "Are you alright? You're a little pale."

"I'm fine," Takeru repeats. "I'm guessing you know where Poromon is, huh?"

Ken shrugs, but there's a grin on his face that gives it away. "Miyako _did_ pick a good spot for him, I can tell you that."

A chuckle crawls up his throat and Takeru shoves it out. Hikari and Iori exchange an odd look, and then Hikari's eyes weave to Patamon. Soon, they fall back on Takeru's face, and he becomes a prisoner to her gaze. Her lips tilt upward, and it's a smile that's tender and uncertain. "Should we go see if he can find him, then?"

"Good idea," he says, and finds himself quick to avoid keeping eye-contact for much longer. But when Ken, Iori, and Upamon exit the room without delay, Hikari reaches for his arm. Worry seems like it is carved permanently into her eyes. It's then that Takeru realizes that Tailmon is regarding him with suspicion.

"Are you sure you're ok?" Hikari asks gently. "You looked like you were in pain."

Takeru pauses, and then he smiles again. This time, it's a softer smile. He doesn't like seeing her worry. "It's just a headache, I think. C'mon, let's finish the game. Ken's still got to open his presents, remember?"

She returns the gesture slowly before giving a small nod. He holds the door for her, allowing her to pass through first, before clicking it shut behind him. A glance to his left shows that Daisuke is opening cabinets again.

"Daisuke did check behind the door. Twice," his partner whispers almost inaudibly.

Takeru swallows. "He did, huh?"

"And you weren't there the first time," Patamon murmurs.


	3. Not So Imaginary

**Ch 02 || Not so Imaginary**

[27 February 2004; 8:16 a.m.]

Takeru has spent the majority of the week on autopilot. Lost in his own world. Following basic routine. Unable to stay focused. It's all distracted hums and not-quite smiles and purposeless automatic impulses.

It's strange, feeling so listless; and for this long, too. He'll be lying if he says it doesn't worry him. But he can't snap himself out of it. The events from Ken's birthday party play in his brain on an endless loop. An uncomfortable, almost nauseating ache hovers underneath his eyes, ever-present since last weekend. He has tried everything—aspirin, sleep, ice packs, heating pads, even caffeine—but there is no remedy that can ease the pain. And it is getting harder to ignore.

Walking to school with a chirpy, ready-to-face-the-day Miyako had not helped. Even though she is in middle school, she still walks with them since her school is not far from the elementary school. Usually, he finds her energy refreshing. Today, however, he would give anything to go home and rest. He is at least thankful Iori is the type of person to stay inside his head.

He stares unseeing at the shoe cupboard, having already traded out his sneakers for traditional school shoes. Readjusts his backpack. Reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, as if that will offer any help.

He already knows it's going to be a long day.

"Good morning, Takeru."

Hikari's voice is naturally soft, so he hearing her speak doesn't bother him as much as Miyako's voice had. Regardless, he flinches upon feeling her hand on his shoulder, startled by the sudden physical contact. "Oh. Good morning, Hikari."

Hikari's head tilts to one side, eyes swimming with concern as she examines his face. She asks in a lower voice, "Are you alright?"

"Hmm? Of course," he answers, offering a smile for good measure. He is not sure if it is effective, so he adds, "Just a headache, is all."

"Another one?" She brushes a stray hair behind her ear, frowning. "Maybe you should see a doctor."

"Nah," he says with a shrug, but a small part of him thinks he should listen to her. Except, worrying her is the last thing he wants to do. Adds instead, "It's not so bad."

Takeru gestures for her to start walking, and she does, easily falling in step with him as they make their way toward their classroom. The stroll is peaceful and quiet—until they hear the lively chatter of the students inside. It's nearing eight-thirty, after all, which means their class will start soon. Still, Takeru chews his cheek and sighs inwardly as if that will prepare him for the long day ahead of him.

"Daisuke is going to be late again," Hikari comments absentmindedly, her gaze drifting around the room as if to locate him. "I hope he gets here soon. He'll be late for the test."

Takeru freezes in front of his seat. "What test?"

Hikari pauses, startled by the unexpected tinge of panic in his voice. "The social-studies test. Kimura-sensei gave us the review yesterday, remember? We worked on it in class."

Takeru blinks, legs feeling suddenly watery as he slowly places his backpack on his assigned desk. A test. A review. Slowly, he unzips the bag and paws through it, but he fails to find the paper that Hikari is referring to. His heart stutters nervously in his chest.

"I think I left it at home," he murmurs, almost to himself. It makes him feel irresponsible—they are over halfway through the third term of the school year, and he's falling behind? He tries to remember if he had even studied at home yesterday, but doing so only reminds him of this terrible headache.

_Great. Just my luck._

He realizes that Hikari has stepped closer to him, inspecting his face once again. At first, he thinks she's going to make another comment regarding his behavior—perhaps suggest he pay a visit to the nurse's office. He cannot read her expression, and her silence makes him nervous. But then she says, "We can study mine together for a little bit and during homeroom, ok?"

"I'd appreciate that," he says quietly, offering another tiny smile.

She nods and slides into her seat, fishing out her review from her own backpack. Takeru waits patiently, once again trying to push the pain in his head aside so he can focus on Hikari's paper. He has less than twenty minutes to cram all of the information on her review into his brain.

Hikari grabs her pencil and launches into a quiet explanation of each question and each answer, but it is difficult to focus on her voice—let alone the page—with his peers talking around them. Any moment, sensei will come in and everyone will be quiet so he can take attendance, but each second seems to drag. The mild drum in his head is steadily building.

"Takeru?" Hikari whispers when Takeru's eyes drift out of focus.

"Hmm? Oh, sorry. You were saying?"

Daisuke storms in right behind sensei before she can continue. He's huffing and puffing as he offers a clumsy bow and apologizes for almost being late. Hikari releases a giggle, and Takeru quirks his own eyebrows in amusement to keep up some charade of normalcy as Daisuke breathlessly makes his way to his desk.

"Yeah, yeah, I know what you're going to say," he mumbles grumpily as he passes Takeru's and Hikari's desks.

"I just wanted to ask if you were ok," Hikari tells him, but there is a hint of a smile on her face that says otherwise.

"I just forgot my backpack so I had to go back." He slumps into his chair, laying his head upon his desk. "And—gah! I didn't even eat breakfast!"

"Did you study for the test?"

Daisuke's eyes pop. "Ohhh, man."

_At least I'm not the only one,_ an amused part of Takeru's brain thinks.

Hikari's eyes turn sympathetic, and she offers to share her review with Daisuke as well—an offer which Daisuke readily accepts, before deciding to poke fun at Takeru for losing track of his review as well.

"Hardy, har, har," Takeru drones, before plastering another small smile on his face. "You were saying, Hikari?"

The twenty minutes which Takeru was desperately hoping to cling to disappear before he knows it, and all of a sudden first period is starting. Kimura-sensei is handing out the tests, diving into her usual explanation of the rules and directions before conducting each exam.

Takeru tunes that part out, desperately trying to keep the information that Hikari had told him earlier fresh in his mind. But as soon as the test is placed on his desk, everything in his brain scatters like flower petals in the wind. He scribbles his name at the top of the page, trying to pull his thoughts back into something that resembles order.

His brain throbs in protest. It's not a long test, he realizes as he skims it briefly, stomach aflutter with unease. Shuffles his weight in his desk, unable to get comfortable. Rests his chin in the palm of his hand. Toys absently with his pencil.

Reading each character seems like such an impossible task. Takeru's brows furrow together in concentration, but even after looking at each question, he can't focus enough to properly register the words. Studying with Hikari had been futile.

Is it just him, or do the lights seem uncharacteristically bright today? He squints, releasing his pencil and allowing it to roll freely across his desk as he rubs his temple with his thumb. It's an action he's repeated several times this morning, just on instinct, and yet it offers little relief. His eyes slide shut without his consent, and it takes a concerning amount of effort to pry them back open.

_I should have studied..._

_I... should have studied..._

_Should have studied..._

_My head...is killing me._

Takeru startles awake when he hears his pencil clatter onto the ground. He blinks rapidly, his heart jolting in surprise.

Peering down to see where his pencil had landed, Takeru frowns when he sees a tiny, crumbled-up sticky note fall right next to the writing utensil. Confused and curious, he reaches down to pick both of them up.

In Hikari's handwriting, the note reads, _Are you sure you're ok?_

Takeru swallows. He bites his lip anxiously, not wanting to lie to her. Yeah, he writes messily, trying to ignore the way the characters blur on the sticky note. _It's just a headache._

Takeru risks a brief glance in the direction of Kimura-sensei. She seems distracted enough, with papers askew on her desk, a red pen in her hand. Quietly and gently, he passes the note back to Hikari.

She skims it with a pensive expression and then jots down a reply of her own before inconspicuously tossing it onto his desk. _I can walk you to the nurse's office after class._

He glances up at her then, catching the flicker of doubt that crosses her features. Half of him thinks that is a smart idea. The other half tells him to smile and shake his head no—and it is the part that he listens to.

Scribbles, _No, don't worry. I can rest when I get home._

She looks uncertain as she reads it, but offers a hesitant nod and returns her attention to her test.

The test.

Takeru's eyes find the clock. The numbers are slightly crooked. Fuzzy, almost. He blinks once more to get his eyes to focus. Five minutes. They have five minutes left to finish, and Takeru has barely written a thing.

On the inside, Takeru whimpers. There is no chance that he will get a good mark on this. There probably will not be a chance to make it up.

Today really is going to be a long day.

* * *

[12:44 p.m.]

In retrospect, skipping lunch to study at the library while nursing a throbbing headache was probably not a good idea. But Hikari had seemed so worried, and avoiding her hurts less than lying to her.

Except he _did_ lie to her. He had told her he'd be back in a few minutes, and that was not true. It doesn't help that the school day is dragging, each minute stretched out far too thin, as though time itself is made of elastic bands. He just wants to see if he can find some information about what he had experienced last weekend and if his headaches are connected. Where is the biggest amount of information stored in an elementary school? A library.

A part of him thinks he is being foolish. He would probably have better luck going to the computer room using a search engine on the Internet, but that room is most likely flooded with students. The library is far less crowded, and it is a little bigger.

But why would his school library have information like that? Where would he find it? Asking the librarian doesn't seem like a good idea—he doesn't want her to think he is crazy.

_I have thirty minutes. I'm sure I can find_ something _in that time._

His feet carry him past many bookshelves, and his eyes struggle to keep up with all the characters on the signs. Fiction. Science-fiction. Non-fiction...

Maybe Non-fiction? Takeru freezes, once again feeling stupid because he doesn't know what he is even looking for. A lot of the books in the non-fiction section of the library are visual encyclopedias, all on topics like outer space and wildlife and politics.

Yes. This is a stupid idea.

Despite this, Takeru continues to browse around the library at a slow pace. At least it is quiet here—just the occasional turn of a page or the scribble of a pencil. The low grumble in his stomach tells him he should return to his classroom to eat, but the idea of food at the moment seems nauseating. Reading is out of the question, anyway. Reading is one of the things to avoid when one has a headache. Doing so poorly on that social-studies test should have been cold, hard proof of that. He just needs to find a table so he can lay his head down again...

In a last-minute effort to look busy, Takeru selects a random book on a nearby bookshelf. Doesn't even care to read the title. He circles back around in search of a table, trying not to feel discouraged. He can figure it out later when this headache is gone. He can—

Takeru isn't sure what happens. One moment he's fighting the urge to massage his temples and the next, the world is spinning. Takeru's book falls to the floor, tumbling from tremoring fingers like a dish made of glass: too sudden, too heavy, too loud of a thud in the silence of the library.

He stumbles into a bookshelf with a gasp of surprise. The ache in his head crawls upward, into his hairline, over his ears, down the nape of his neck. Like a surge of electricity. His sharp hiss of pain stretches unbidden across the room, prompting a few curious looks from his peers that are left unnoticed by Takeru. But no one rushes to his aid.

He leans heavily against a thankfully unoccupied table, blood pounding in his ears like waves in the ocean. Shaking hands reach blindly for a chair so he can sit down, and alongside the sharp pain is a vicious flood of nausea that rises so hard, so fast he thinks he's going to vomit right then and there. It takes a lot of willpower to push the urge down, and his eyes clamp shut involuntarily.

_Not again._

Takeru curls clumsily into the chair, grateful that the corner of the library that he has chosen to do his research is crowded by bookshelves. But the thought of capturing somebody's attention quickly becomes the least of his worries.

It is like invisible knives are digging into his skull. Twisting. Carving. For a while, it is all Takeru can feel: awful, excruciating agony, drilling deep into his core. He cannot make a sound.

He cannot move.

Cannot feel the chair beneath him.

Pins and needles are pricking him from the inside, stabbing with as much force as the knives. His body burns. And burns. And burns.

And then it is gone, just like that, just like before; and Takeru sits still, his breath shallow, trapped in a thick fog of disorientation. Wondering if he should ask for help. Wondering if he should go to the hospital. Pain like that _can't_ be normal.

_Don't be dramatic,_ he tells himself. _Just... take a moment. I'm ok. I'm gonna be ok._

After a slow, aching eternity, he uncurls his legs and fingers. His eyes flutter open sluggishly. Stretches his legs out underneath the table, hesitantly lifting his head.

The world is blurry. Voices reach his ears in faint, faraway whispers; but his brain is unable to focus on a single word that is said. His gaze drifts around in a slow, almost lethargic manner; and then he cradles his temples, expelling a weak groan.

The spinning doesn't stop no matter how long he waits.

Frustrated, Takeru gathers the nerve to stand so he can leave the library. Regret is heavy in his chest; he should have just stayed in the classroom. His legs, however, are watery; he still cannot will them to move. What little energy he had earlier has evaporated completely, stolen by that flash of searing pain.

"Maybe I _should_ go to the nurse's office," he whispers to himself hoarsely.

Rather than listen to that thought, Takeru simply remains at the table, trying to ward off sudden exhaustion. To dispel the sensations of dizziness and nausea. He blinks, wondering why the bookshelves are starting to turn purple...

Wait.

_Purple?_

Takeru freezes, ignoring the uncomfortable tug in his brain when his head shoots upward, wide eyes scanning the walls, the floors, the bookshelves. A garden of color blooms without a source or trigger, undulating, seeping through every gap; every little crevice. Thin tendrils of purple, and green, and yellow, and blue. Just like at Ken's birthday party, when his friend's bedroom was bathed in blue.

Takeru draws in a breath of terrified wonder, overwhelmed with fear and awe. A thread of purple hovers by his cheek. He flinches away from it, and the thread withdraws as well like a timid butterfly. Takeru can only blink, mesmerized by the tendrils.

Tendrils which spin and spin until they are shimmering orbs, floating leisurely around him: all different shades, all different sizes. This is not like before. Each sphere seems to have its own personality. Some are shy. Some are mischievous and excited. Some are brave, fluttering closer and closer to Takeru's body as though to study him more intently. Curiosity coaxes Takeru's fingers to extend as if to touch them. To make sure they're real. To see what will happen if he makes physical contact.

_Don't,_ a tiny part of his brain warns, but it is too late.

The spheres pop like delicate bubbles, surprising Takeru enough to make him flinch again. Seconds later, there is a whoosh, and the clouds that surround him are so thick that he can no longer see any of the objects that make up the school library.

Time slows, and each movement, each breath he takes, each shudder of the colorful clouds seems much, much more intense. Takeru feels weightless; like he is the one floating, and his first instinct is to laugh. And then, once that first giggle erupts from his lips, he can't figure out how to stop. His senses are overwhelmed and yet he does not mind.

The auras have a sound: a low hum, soft and crisp like an autumn breeze.

The auras have a taste: oddly metallic and yet bittersweet. Each time his eyes catch a glimpse of another color, it changes. Becomes sweeter. Sweeter. Then it is sour, and Takeru is left laughing again.

The auras have a smell: a dislocated, smokey scent. Like something is burning. His eyes drift slowly around, purple to blue, blue to green, green to yellow; and then he is in a field of flowers. Back to blue.

Takeru's head tilts to the side, baffled. What... what is that? Something black. Something black... perhaps a shadow...

A splash of darkness in a beautiful rainbow.

He squints, trying to focus. To clear his mind. The feeling of euphoria that had consumed him moments ago quickly dissipates and a whisper of pain returns Takeru's skull. And everything closes in on him, all at once.

Too many sounds.

Too many scents.

Too much, too much, _too much._

"...remember... me...?"

The words come out slow and mechanical as if read to him by a computer. Each syllable is exaggerated. And still, just like in Ken's bedroom, there is this whisper of kidlike fascination, as though Takeru is speaking to a child. He stares wordlessly, the pearl-eyed creature's robotic greeting in echoing in his ears...

_"Hello."_

Another low humming noise, so loud it leaves his ears ringing. Takeru's head jerks and his stomach convulses again in horror.

Something is rising from _out of the floor._

He quakes in his chair, unable to tear his gaze away from the large mass of colors. They waft around him again, around the shelves, the table, painting books, oozing into pages, climbing up and down walls; shuddering; swirling; until the entire room is a chasm of auras. And color fuses with shadow, weaving around swampy black tendrils to create recognizable features.

At first, there is only hair. A forehead. Then Takeru sees gemlike eyes and skeletal shoulders. It climbs out of the floor agonizingly slowly as if doing so takes a tremendous amount of effort. There is no nose, no mouth, no ears. Only eyes. But still, it had spoken. To _Takeru._ Takeru once more tries to move, to scream; but to no avail. He is frozen and rendered mute.

He stares, whole body tingling. His heart thuds against his ribcage as though it is a door that will open with the correct amount of force. The creature pushes itself upward to its full height, cocking its head to the side like a curious dog. Further. Further. It crawls toward him, one slow step at a time, almost as though it is moving through sludge.

"I remember you," it whispers, each word stretched out once again.

It is only when Takeru looks directly into its eyes that the spell breaks. They are like mirrors. He can see himself: all trembling lips and saucer eyes and soul-crushing fear. Behind him, there are no auras. No billowing clouds of blue or purple or green. Just huge crystal eyes and oozing shadows, coming down to consume him in shuddering waves.

The air is snatched from his lungs.

"Don't _touch_ me," Takeru snaps, backpedaling when its fingers reach out to caress his face. "Get off me—get off— _get away from me_ —"

His voice is harsh and drenched with hysteria, and panicked hands push whatever is in front of him away. Terror skyrockets through him when his fingers hit something undoubtedly solid.

Skin.

It is like someone has flipped a switch. The eyes, the darkness, the auras—they've all vanished, and in front of him stands a girl around his height, wide-eyed and shaking almost as bad as he is. One of his classmates. The librarian is running toward them, concern and fear etched into her features.

He'd knocked over his chair, and he had put hands on another student.

_This... this can't be happening right now._

He flinches away like a caged animal when the librarian reaches out to touch him, stumbling backward until his back hits a nearby bookshelf.

"I'm sorry," he blurts without thinking, feeling his throat close up. The familiar burn in his eyes is a presage of a spell of tears. "I'm—I'm really sorry—I—"

His feet carry him away before he can think of an explanation, and he weaves through the bookshelves, around tables; moves until he's out of the library. Except, where does he go now? A tiny voice in his head whispers that his lunch period is coming to an end—he needs to go back to class before he's late.

_It's bad enough that I left in the first place._

Dizzy with anxiety, Takeru tears around the corner, propelling himself down the hallway and up a flight of stairs. He's looking straight ahead, but not really seeing anything. His surroundings pass him in a blur.

"Hey!"

Fingers close around his wrist without warning, pulling him to a halt so suddenly that Takeru almost loses his balance. He skids, shoes squeaking against the tiled floor, and spins around to face the person who had stopped him.

It's a boy this time, and he's familiar. Another one of his classmates. Takeru's panicked brain can't come up with his name.

"Are you...gonna be ok?" the kid asks, looking as if he expects Takeru to collapse at any given moment.

Takeru wants to laugh. He is so sick of hearing that question. It slowly comes to his attention that they are near the classroom, and the noise from inside is feeding out into the hallway since the door is open. The pounding in his head immediately intensifies when he hears the voices of his peers.

He hadn't run that far, but still, Takeru is breathless once again and struggling to come up with a reply. Eventually, he rasps, "I thought... I was going to be late."

"You almost were," the boy replies, lips tilting with a whisper of a smile. Then he nods his head toward the door. "Oh, hey, by the way, Motomiya-san and Yagami-san were looking for you."

Oh, no. Takeru sighs audibly, risking a quick peek inside the classroom. "O...ok. Thanks."

Takeru allows him to pass first before entering the classroom himself, trying his best to ignore the painful thrum in his entire body. His eyes catch Hikari's instantly—and at first, she looks relieved to see him. Then confusion crosses her face, and she raises her brows. But Takeru doesn't have time to think of something that will appease her concern.

"Hey, man, where did you go?" Daisuke rounds on him. "We were worried!"

"I'm sorry," he mutters, hastily brushing past him in a manner that on any other day he would deem as rude. "I...got distracted."

It's a lame excuse, but Hikari does not press further for information. She asks tentatively, "Did you get something to eat?"

Takeru hesitates before giving her a shaky nod. Pretends to not notice the way his stomach clenches, internally promising to feed it after all of this pain and nausea goes away. Or... or is he just nauseous because he is hungry? It's too late to find out.

_Just get through the rest of the day,_ he murmurs inside his head as he folds his arms over his desk. Allows his head to drop into the makeshift pillow they have created, ignoring his friends' baffled expressions. _You're over halfway there._

* * *

[4:01 p.m.]

The snow is light and beautiful.

It falls in tiny, shimmering flakes. Slowly. Gracefully. They flutter and sway in unique and unpredictable patterns, this way and that, quick and then slow. It's not cold enough to stick to the ground—it dissolves the moment it touches the cement—and Takeru closes his eyes again, drawing in a slow breath. Tries his best not to think about what happened in the library.

But how is he supposed to shut something like that out of his mind? He worries his lip, pulling his coat in closer, tugging at his beanie so it covers his ears. His breath is foggy as it leaves his lips and his headache is like a tattoo in his brain: less severe than before, but still present. At least he can be happy that school is over and the weekend has officially started.

Part of him wishes Patamon had not returned to the digital world after Ken's birthday party last weekend. Sure, it had been Takeru who had pushed for him to go—Patamon was reluctant to leave after what had happened in Ken's bedroom—but he immediately regretted doing so. Patamon's presence is always comforting, and no matter how much he doesn't want to admit it, he had been scared to go to sleep that night. Patamon always knows how to soothe his fears.

And that's entirely selfish on Takeru's part. Being away from the digital world drains Patamon's energy, and he hates to ask his partner to stay when it isn't necessary. Patamon never has a problem with it, and Takeru loves having the little guy around, but a few days on Earth and there's a noticeable difference in Patamon's personality. Earth is not in danger, anyway.

Besides, he knows he doesn't have to be alone on his walk home. And perhaps having company is what he needs. Friends are nice distractions—and today has proven that thinking is getting him in trouble. Iori will come out soon, and if he waits long enough, Miyako will be here as well. On any other day, he would have.

Which makes him feel a little foolish. It isn't that far of a walk—barely ten minutes. Five if he walks fast. He just wants to get home and rest, so after spending a few impatient minutes in the schoolyard, he starts his trek to his apartment building. Isn't he supposed to be avoiding his friends, anyway?

"Takeru!"

_Never mind._

Takeru winces upon hearing Daisuke's loud, cheerful voice. He stills, wondering if he can pretend he didn't hear him. But that will seem rude, and Daisuke hasn't done anything wrong. It isn't Daisuke's fault Takeru has this pulsating headache. It isn't Daisuke's fault that this day has been absolutely horrible.

So he turns around, offering a too-weak smile as his friend runs up toward him. Confusion brews in his stomach when he sees the puzzled expression on Daisuke's face as he nears him. "What?"

"You ok, man?" Daisuke asks immediately with his brows quirked upward.

"I'm good," he says, but on the inside, he's already trying to find excuses to leave. "What's up?"

Daisuke frowns and it's as if he hadn't even heard Takeru's question. "You sure? 'Cause Hayashi-san said that—"

Before Daisuke can finish, Takeru hears his name again. He glances up as carefully as he can and feels his heart clench when he sees Hikari walking toward them. She looks hurt.

Because he had basically ignored her all day. All of her concerned glances, her offers to help. He had shut it all out. Guilt climbs through him and he forces it down before he can choke on it. "Hey, Hikari."

She doesn't respond, at first. Studies him with the same expression as this morning: lips pulled into a frown, eyes glistening with concern. Then: "Hayashi-san went home early. She told us... about what happened at the library."

Takeru's breath hitches and his stomach plummets. Immediately, he is trying to put a face to the name. His mind whirls, backtracking, spinning around and around. Hayashi-san. Blue eyes widen when he realizes Hayashi-san is the girl he had pushed away at the library. And she's in his class. Of course, she told someone. He does not blame her.

She must have gone home because of him. He prays he did not hurt her. He had not meant to snap at her, let alone shove her—she was just _there,_ and he had thought he was pushing away that _thing..._

"Oh," is all that comes out when he opens his mouth, unable to think of a better reply. Suddenly he feels breathless, and he fidgets with his backpack as he scrambles to come up with some sort of explanation that makes sense. His cheeks feel hot. "I, uhh. Um..."

"She said you didn't seem yourself," Hikari continues quietly.

"Why did you push her?" Daisuke asks, not unkindly. His eyes, however, demand an answer; and behind that fierce curiosity is a smudge of worry. Takeru swallows the lump in his throat.

"I—" He shifts uncomfortably. "I gotta go." He turns then, heart trying to leap out of his body. He can already feel the blood thudding in his ears. Fingers clamp down on his shoulder and spin him around.

"Takeru, wait—" Daisuke starts.

"Really," Takeru says hastily, voice tinged with panic. "I have to get home."

"Walk home with me," Hikari suggests. "You can talk to me on the way." Her eyes flicker to his, uncertain and pleading. "Please?"

"I'm sorry," he whispers past the knot forming in his throat, forcibly ripping free from Daisuke's grasp. "I have chores and homework and—" His throat is constricting. "I'll see you later."

He sucks in a quivering breath as he quickens his pace, determined to put as much distance between him and his friends as possible. Blames his shivers on the cold weather. Tucks his face into his coat so his nose is covered. Shoves his hands into his pockets.

_Later,_ he tells himself. _I can figure it out later._

His steps are frantic and clumsy as he moves, wanting to get home as soon as possible. The faster he walks, the faster he can lie down and sleep. And sleeping means everything is on hold—he won't have to think about this stupid headache, or the guilt of ignoring his friends, or what happened at the library, or Ken's birthday party. He won't have to think about anything.

He rounds the corner, now panting, and he isn't sure if it's because of the fear building in his chest or if it's because he's walking so fast. But that doesn't matter. He can see his apartment building from here. It's only a few minutes away. It's a safety net; it's a security blanket; it's—

It's surrounded by floating spheres, red and purple and blue and green. Takeru feels a panicked sob leave his lips, stumbling back in shock. No. No, no, no. Tears prick unbidden at his eyes.

He should have walked home with Hikari.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback is greatly appreciated. :)


	4. Escape

**Ch 03 || Escape**

[27 February 2004; 4:19 p.m.]

It's still snowing when Takeru's frantic speed walk becomes a jog. By the time he reaches the end of the block and crosses the street, he's at an almost sprint. The wind is nipping sharply at his face alongside the snowflakes, whirling in his ears, dampening his clothes. It's loud, and it's cold enough to leave him shivering. He moves anyway.

He isn't sure why he's so desperate to get away. Distancing himself from his apartment just seems like a good choice. Maybe, just maybe, if he moves fast enough, the auras won't follow him. Maybe he can hide, and those strange, gem-eyed creatures won't be able to find him.

Which is probably a stupid idea, but Takeru is too overwhelmed with fear to slow down. Bolting out of the library had worked. He doesn't even want to look behind him to check if he's successful. And as pathetic as it sounds, he wishes he hadn't walked home by himself.

_I should have listened to Hikari,_ he thinks, feeling guilt and fear prick at his insides, as sharp and painful as needles. _I should have gone home with her._

But if he did that, would they have still followed him? Would Hikari have seen them, too? He's not alone this time. There are people roaming the streets, bundled up in winter gear. And Patamon was with him in Ken's room, and he said Takeru literally _vanished._ What did Patamon mean? He made quite a scene in the library. Was he physically there before Hayashi-san reached out to touch him? Had he just... appeared in front of her? Was that why she looked as terrified as he felt?

_That doesn't make any sense!_

Maybe it doesn't matter if he's alone—the auras can come at any time, anywhere. And if he stays in place long enough, shadows will spawn as well, reaching for him like lost children searching for their parents in a crowd...

A crowd. The two words trigger a domino-effect of memories from last weekend: the crowd at the train station. They were all at the train station because they were going to Ken's birthday party. The party where they'd played hide and seek. Takeru had slid behind Ken's bedroom door...

Takeru shakes his head inwardly. The thought almost makes him stumble and turn around. No way does he want to put Hikari in danger. He doesn't want her to get hurt.

Except he doesn't even know if what he's seeing classifies as _dangerous._ He hasn't stuck around them long enough to find out. All he knows is they don't look like anything he's faced in the past.

Which is why he's terrified, and Hikari had told him earlier that she wanted to know if something was wrong. Perhaps it is selfish because there's a possibility that he'll guide them to her. But then, when Daisuke found him that day in Ken's room, the creatures vanished. So that means she'll be safe, right? Maybe...

Takeru forces himself to move faster. He just wants to figure out what they are, what they mean, and why he's seeing them. He doesn't know if he can do that alone. He needs a second opinion, and Hikari is his best friend. She'll help him with this.

He pivots without warning, his brain now set on a destination. He wonders if she's already made it home by now. Hikari's apartment isn't that far from his own by foot. If he keeps running, he'll cut time by at least a third. It helps that he's already past the schoolyard. Ignores the way his abdomen cramps when he pushes himself to move faster.

His surroundings blur the entire way. He sprints past the park. Past random stores and shops. Past naked trees and bushes. He's running so fast he almost loses his balance several times—and the fact that it's cold and snowing does little to help him out. But he doesn't care. Doesn't have time to care.

_Almost there,_ his brain says when he reaches the flight of stairs that lead up to Hikari's apartment. By then, it's obvious he's out of steam. As he pushes himself up the steps, his pace is noticeably slower. His legs are weak and watery—he's lucky there's a rail. Otherwise, he would have slid right down the steps, unable to pull himself back up to his feet. He makes himself to move despite this, fueled solely by the hope that Hikari will have an idea of what to do.

Then Takeru's standing in front of the door, hand curled into a tight fist, poised to knock. And knock he does.

It's frantic and short and probably a little too soft, but even over the thundering sound of his heartbeat, over the blood flowing in his ears, he hears the door unlatch; signaling that it has been unlocked by the person on the other side.

_Here it goes,_ his mind whispers as if the thought will bring him courage.

But Takeru loses all nerve the moment Hikari opens the door.

_Never mind._

_This was a bad idea._

He had wasted all of his energy running here, and now he can't breathe. His stomach is cramping and clenching, and his heart feels too squished, too constricted underneath flesh and bone. Claustrophobic. Pounding. Pounding. Like there's another person suffocating inside of him, trying to break out. His whole body is quaking, and he isn't sure if it's because of his rapid heartbeat or the cold.

He isn't sure what to say. Or what to do. He stands frozen and nauseous and hyperventilating, too busy trying to remember how to get his internal organs to work properly to find an explanation. And he's sure if he opens his mouth, he's just going to throw up all over her doorstep.

Luckily, Hikari acts for him.

"Takeru, oh my gosh, get in here!"

It's a hushed whisper. Her eyes are wide and frantic as she pulls on his hand, practically dragging him inside. He stumbles out of his shoes, and then she's helping him out of his damp coat without giving him a chance to reply.

"You're freezing," she hisses, rubbing his numb fingers as though that will feed some warmth back into them. "What're you—? Wait, you still have your backpack... Did you run here from school?"

All that comes out is a breathless hum and a sort-of nod. He can't think of the words; is too busy trying to stop the world from spinning. His fingers slowly curl underneath hers, and he's unable to look her in the eyes. His brain feels like it's outgrowing his skull.

"Hikari, who was at the—" The voice stops briefly. "Oh, hi, Takeru... is everything ok?"

Both of them jump and Hikari whirls around. Takeru goes still, attempting to level out his breathing. If he had the energy, Takeru would have scolded himself. Of course her mother is home. That makes him wonder briefly where Taichi is, and what he will say if he sees him like this. He knows Taichi—he'll automatically want to know what's up. Attention is the last thing Takeru needs.

Hikari seems to pick up on this. She's quiet for a moment as if searching for something to say. Some sort of excuse. Finally, she releases Takeru's hands, giving her mother a strained smile. "Yeah, um, we're good, Mom. Thanks," she adds politely. Then: "Are you still going to make tea?"

"Yes," her mother answers, examining Takeru closely with worried eyes. "Would you both like some?"

"Please," Hikari says, offering another smile, before looking back at Takeru and nodding toward her bedroom door when her mother returns to the kitchen.

Except Takeru still can't figure out how to move. His legs and lungs burn; his mind is racing. When he tries to take a step forward, he's glad Hikari's there to steady him, because he stumbles.

She guides him vigilantly to her room without a second thought and closes the door behind her, looking frightened and concerned. All Takeru can do is shake. He looks back at her door as if blue and purple will seep through its cracks; as if the shadows will come back and invite themselves into her room. His eyes trace each hinge, each small gap. Double-checks. Triple-checks.

Hikari follows his gaze, brows furrowed. They both see nothing, and Takeru leans heavily against her bed, thankful that it's gone. But his head is still throbbing, and for a moment, he thinks he's going to pass out.

So he slides down to the floor, eyes squeezing shut, and takes several minutes to focus on his breathing. To figure out how to stop shivering. To calm his stomach. He is so, so dizzy. It's been a while since he ran that hard, and in the cold, no less. Hikari doesn't hesitate to sit down next to him, and she rubs his hands again. She's warm and he's not, so he doesn't object.

"I'm sorry," he whispers when he finds his voice again. He can only imagine how confused she must be, with him showing up out of the blue when he had told her barely thirty minutes ago that he was going to go to his apartment. But then, Takeru doesn't know what's going on, either. He didn't expect to end up here.

"What happened?" she asks tentatively. "You said..."

"I know," he says, with an empty laugh. "I just..." Rubs his temple. Admits truthfully, "I don't know."

There's a pause, and Takeru can tell she wants to press for more information, but she's always been a patient person. So she waits, and Takeru's glad that his heartbeat is falling back under his control. He hunches his shoulders, folding his arms over his knees so his chin has a place to rest.

"I think there's something wrong with me," he murmurs after a time.

Hikari blinks. "What do you mean?"

He draws in a shaky breath, gathering his courage. Closes his eyes.

Then, everything comes out. What happened at Ken's birthday party. His headaches that are rapidly becoming worse—worse than he had let on at school. Why he has spent the whole day avoiding her, trying to find excuses to be alone. The strange creature he saw in the library. Pushing Hayashi-san. The orbs he saw close to his apartment building. He shivers as he relays the entire story, half because he's still cold, and also because he can't shake the feeling that the auras are going to climb into Hikari's bedroom at any moment.

As he talks, Hikari's expression changes. It's at first fearful, then confused, and then it becomes pensive. Takeru doesn't know what she's thinking. Toward the end of the story, Hikari pulls her blanket down from her loft bed and coaxes him to cover up so he doesn't get sick. He's hesitant but chooses to welcome the soft fabric, rather than fight Hikari's concern.

There's a knock on the door right as he finishes. It's Hikari's mother, telling them the tea is ready.

"I'll be right back," Hikari tells him quietly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze before she stands and leaves the room.

Takeru sighs. Even though he's said everything out loud, it still doesn't feel real. It's like he's trapped in a nightmare from which he cannot awake. He pulls Hikari's blanket closer to him, thankful for its warm. When Hikari reenters the room, she is carrying two small mugs.

"Thanks," he mutters with a half-smile as she hands him one. Takes a small sip, careful not burn his tongue.

She mirrors the gesture, settling back down on the floor. Then she eyes him curiously as if taking in all of this new information. Whispers, "So you don't have any idea what they are, or why they're after you?"

"I... no," Takeru says quietly; timidly. "They don't look like digimon, Hikari. They, uh. They kind of look like humans, in a way. Or um, something that used to be human. The thing I saw in the library... it had arms, legs, hair, and eyes. And... and there were so many _colors._ "

A thoughtful look graces Hikari's features once more. Her brows twitch, and she frowns. "What about the eyes?"

"What about them?"

"What color did you say they were?"

Takeru thinks back a little and shudders when the image crosses his mind's eye. "White. There were no pupils, no irises. And... and they looked kind of like, I don't know, crystals? I could see my reflection in them when it got close to me."

"But it didn't touch you?"

"I ran off before it could," Takeru answers shakily.

Hikari nods, taking time to process what he's told her again. Her eyes are confused and uneasy. "Does your head still hurt?"

Takeru hesitates. He chews his lip, exhaling through his nose. "A little."

A veil of silence falls over the two of them. Takeru looks back at his hands, unsure of what to think. Hikari's now gazing at her door as if she's trying to imagine the same scenario which Takeru has just described. Takeru hopes desperately that he's wrong about them being able to spawn without any type of portal or trigger. Or at least, he hopes he can _find_ the trigger so he can figure out a way to avoid them.

"Where's Taichi?" he asks out of nowhere.

Hikari blinks but her eyes do not move from her bedroom door. "He's with Sora and Yamato, I think. They're supposed to study for an upcoming test. Jou and Koushiro have been trying to give him tips, but Nii-san... he's not someone who's going to sit still for hours to study." A light smile touches her lips before she gives Takeru a sidelong glance. "Are you going to tell Yamato?"

Takeru pauses and then decides to shake his head. Slowly. He doesn't want to keep things from his brother. He knows from past experiences that Yamato will somehow find out. But... "Not yet. I want to figure these things out first."

Hikari's eyes glisten with a hint of disapproval, and that makes Takeru's throat constrict. But it disappears quickly and she nods in understanding: she has had her fair share of secrets, too. "So you're not planning on telling anyone else, probably for the same reason?"

"Well... if it doesn't turn out to be dangerous, then I feel like I'll have made a big deal over nothing," he replies. His shoulders lift in a shrug as he rests his chin on his arms again. "I don't want anyone to worry that much when I don't even know if there's really something to worry about."

"You looked so terrified earlier," Hikari tells him quietly. "If what you saw drew that kind of reaction out of you... if your instinct tells you to get away, then don't you think that means something? It has to be dangerous."

Takeru tears his gaze away if only to hide his humiliated expression. "And if it isn't?"

"I guess we won't know," Hikari says, "unless it happens again."

This time, her voice is laced with an unease that makes Takeru's heart thud in his chest. He does not want to accept the full magnitude of what she is implying.

_You'll tell me if it happens again, won't you?_ is her unspoken question.

He can't _not_ tell her, because he's already spilled this much, and he doesn't even know what will happen once they make physical contact with him. The desperation to do so was obvious in the hungry gazes of the crystal-eyed creatures; he knows it will not be long before they make another attempt.

Shakily, Takeru brings his thumb up to his temple to massage it gently, still wondering why this headache hasn't subsided. It had dulled almost immediately after Daisuke had captured his attention last weekend, and once again when he bolted out of the library. It has never fully disappeared, but at the very least became tolerable.

This headache, however, is refusing to ebb; he feels like there's somebody inside his head, pushing down, down, down on his brain, trying to cram it in a box that lacks the capacity to hold it.

"Takeru?" Hikari whispers.

"Sorry," he croaks out. "I just..." His fingernails dig helplessly into his scalp. "My head is—"

There's a quiet _whoosh_ that follows Hikari's quick and frantic movements as she draws herself up to her full height, and she turns to place her mug on her desk. Then she's resting a hand on Takeru's arm. "Can you stand?"

He stills, and very slowly, glances up at her. Determination is swimming in her eyes now; she looks like she has a plan. This simultaneously relieves Takeru and scares him.

"S-sure," he rasps, confused by the suddenness of her question. Tremulously, Takeru lowers his hands from his head grip the side of Hikari's bed, and he hoists himself up off the ground, taking a deep breath as he tries to will the pain in his head away. "Where... where are we going?"

Rather than give a verbal answer, she turns to paw through her desk drawer. Then she's holding her D3, bestowing him with another determined stare. "Maybe Tailmon and Patamon have some answers."

"I told you, I don't think they're digimon."

"There's no harm in making sure," Hikari tells him, before hurrying to drink the rest of her tea presumably before it cools. Then she pauses, and her face melts into indifference the way it always does when she's lost in a memory. She turns away from him.

Takeru's stomach twists uneasily. "What?"

"Nothing," she says, and it's so soft, so quick that Takeru is convinced his best friend is not being truthful. But then, he'll be a hypocrite if he points it out.

Instead, he leans against the bed, siding with silence. He doesn't need to press for an explanation. Eventually, Hikari asks in a whisper, "It's not like what the Scubamon turned into, right?"

Takeru's confused, for a moment. One blink later, it clicks, and he states hoarsely, "That's why you asked about the eyes."

Hikari stills, and then offers a brief nod. Takeru's heart plummets; he doesn't like seeing her look so troubled. He tries to smile the best he can with his brain ready to burst. "It's... it can't be them, Hika. These things... they look way different."

"Right," Hikari murmurs, inhaling slowly and deeply, and nods quietly. She bends down and picks up Takeru's mug of tea and hands it to him. "Finish this. You're still shivering."

Takeru complies in hopes to alleviate the distressed look in her gaze. The liquid slides easy down his throat, warm and soothing, and when every drop is gone, he asks, "How are we getting to the digital world? Won't your mom know we're missing?"

"I have a plan." Carefully, she rests a hand on his shoulder. "C'mon, let's get our shoes...and take your backpack, too."

Takeru blinks again, decidedly puzzled, but he nods and follows her lead, reaching slowly for his bag. They head to the kitchen to wash their mugs, and when Hikari's mother peeps her head around the corner, Hikari explains, "We have a school project due Monday...is it alright if we go to the library for a few books?"

Her mother gives them both quizzical look. Hikari nonchalantly brushes an elbow against Takeru's side, signaling for him to play along. He shoots her mom a shaky smile, not trusting himself to speak. The lights in the kitchen seem brighter than they do in Hikari's bedroom.

"We'll be back in an hour, tops," Hikari adds.

"...alright," she says finally, before her gaze weaves to the living room, settling on the window. "It's dark out now, so be careful. Do you two want a ride?"

"It's just around the corner," Hikari says, keeping her smile until her mother returns it and nods.

Takeru offers a slight bow and thanks her for the tea, and then she disappears into her bedroom once more. They're still for a few moments until Hikari's sure she's not going to come out again.

"One second," Hikari whispers, and pads quickly to the apartment door. Takeru's brows inch upward when he sees her twist the knob and open the door for a few seconds. Without stepping onto the other side, she pulls it shut; and then hurries to grab their coats and shoes, nodding her head toward Taichi's bedroom door.

Takeru takes the hint instantly, following silently—if not a bit sluggishly—and before long, they're in her brother's room, and Hikari's shutting the door as quickly and as quietly as she can. She rushes to turn on the computer sitting atop Taichi's desk as Takeru readjusts his backpack.

It hums as she presses the power button, and Takeru murmurs, "Where...? Are you opening the digiport?"

"I told you, maybe Tailmon and Patamon can help," she answers quietly, her eyes not leaving the screen.

Takeru isn't sure why his stomach churns with anxiety upon hearing this. He always enjoys Patamon's company. He only feels truly whole when Patamon is around. But there is a dreadful voice in his head that tells him, perhaps this is a bad idea. Guilt claws at his insides; he feels bad for making Hikari lie to her mother.

But he trusts Hikari. He does want to find some sort of escape. Some sort of relief for this terrible headache. He feels like he's being watched; like there are invisible eyes all around him, waiting for the right moment to show themselves and strike. Waiting to explode into waves of deceitfully welcoming colors, desperately reaching out to touch him...

"Are you ready?" Hikari asks in a quiet murmur, gripping her D3 tightly.

Takeru starts to nod but soon remembers that doing so will not help his headache. Mutters instead, "Y-yeah."

Hikari says something else, but his ears don't quite catch it. The room erupts with light before Takeru can ask her to repeat it.

Hundreds of times, Takeru has been through this portal. Each time, his stomach flips and clenches like there's somebody trying to wring water out of it. His entire body tingles as the world becomes a distorted mess of blurred lines and hums. On any other day, the sensations fade as soon as he lands, resulting in a quick and easy recovery. Today, however, he has no such luck.

He's barely aware of the grass beneath him as he stumbles, desperately trying to keep everything in his stomach _in_ his stomach. He's definitely _not_ going to throw up in front of Hikari. It's bad enough that he can barely stand; he doesn't need to further humiliate himself by vomiting all over his best friend.

Said best friend follows him to the ground as his legs buckle. She whispers his name anxiously, fingers curling into his coat in frantic concern.

"I—I'm ok," he assures, but his breath is too fragmented; the words come out soft and raspy. "Just... Yeah. I'm o-ok."

She tightens her grip despite his words. A hushed breeze caresses his skin, brushing against his clothes like the exhalation of a breath. It's warmer than it had been on Earth: all clear skies and rustling trees and welcoming sunbeams. No snow. No need for a coat. No shakes.

No headaches.

His eyes pop as he realizes this, and his first instinct is to look back at his best friend in disbelief. She blinks, meeting his gaze without hesitation, and prompts, "What?"

"It's gone." A laugh crawls out of his mouth: a weak, winded sound, low but happy and full of relief. No pressure. No pain. His whole body feels lighter, almost like feathers. "It doesn't hurt." His voice is laced heavily with awe. "Hika, it doesn't... wow."

"How?"

"I... I don't know."

A tender smile pulls at Hikari's lips. "I'm glad."

Takeru's still grinning as he looks around again. He feels as if he has forgotten what it is like to not have a headache, even though they started over a week ago. It is wonderful. His fingers sift through the crisp grass absentmindedly. His eyes drift skyward to trace the shapes of the clouds. The world is bright, but this time, he is not bothered by it. How is that possible for pain to fade completely in such a little amount of time without the use of some kind of medicine?

_Whatever. I should just be thankful._

"Did your stomach just growl?" Hikari asks suddenly.

Had it? Takeru blinks, and pangs of hunger hit him immediately. "Oh. Um..."

He remembers that he only ate one piece of toast this morning for breakfast, and he had skipped lunch in favor of gathering information from books at the library. He had paid little attention to what time it was when he arrived at Hikari's apartment and has yet to eat supper. But he's been so distracted by his headache that he hadn't noticed until now. And at the end of the day, even though his headache has faded completely, the feeling of his stomach being completely empty leaves him a little dizzy.

Hikari frowns when he does not continue. "You didn't eat at school."

It's a statement, not a question. It clicks in Takeru's mind that he had relayed the entire truth to Hikari earlier—and nowhere in his story did he say that he had eaten lunch. But he had lied to her at school about it. Now, she has caught him. Even then, she hasn't eaten since before one, so she's probably hungry as well. And it's too late to go back to Earth to grab something.

(Not that he wants to go back.)

"I... I didn't have time," he admits finally, the feeling of relief quickly shifting into shame.

Hikari's expression softens. "Let's find Patamon and Tailmon so we can search for some fruit or fish."

Takeru's stomach grumbles as if in excitement, and he silently berates himself for not taking better care of himself. He favors Hikari with a smile anyway. "Sounds like a good idea."

It is easier said than done. They both glance around, but it is evident in their faces that both of them don't know where to start. When they had first reunited with their partners all that time ago, it seemed as though their digimon would come straight to them—and back then, their partners had come home with them every day.

This time they had used Taichi's computer and Hikari had not been specific with her choice of landing.

"Well," Takeru breathes, his gaze sweeping over their surroundings once again. "I guess we should start walking."

Hikari nods soundlessly and sheds her coat, now seeming a little more relaxed underneath the soft touch of the breeze.

They wander aimlessly for some time, and Takeru becomes steadily aware of the hollowness in his stomach. Still, it is warm here, and he has never been fond of winter. It always feels like it's going to snow and he can never leave the apartment without a coat. Being in the digital world makes him wish summer would arrive faster. The idea of staying here overnight is not unappealing...

"Takeru! TAKERU!"

Takeru's heart soars upon hearing his partner's voice, and his head jerks in the direction from which it came. His body tingles with relief for a second time that afternoon, smiling as a blur of orange tackles him.

He hears Tailmon call for Hikari, and soon his best friend is giggling and cuddling the kittenlike digimon in her arms. "That didn't take as long as I thought it would."

"Your scent is pretty recognizable," Tailmon says. "I could smell you for the last twenty minutes."

"We've only been here for about twenty minutes. Do cats really have that good of a sense of smell?" Hikari asks with a hint of a teasing smile.

Tailmon actually looks offended. "I'm no ordinary house cat, Hikari."

Laughter follows this comment, and Takeru hugs Patamon close, pressing his cheek to his fur and wishing (perhaps selfishly) that he had never left his partner's side. He already feels better with Patamon in his arms. Like he is whole again.

"You look pale," Patamon observes abruptly with big, worried eyes. "Are you ok?"

Instantly, the wonderful reunion comes to an end. Takeru instinctively wants to smile off Patamon's concern so he can rekindle the moment, hoping that, for once, he could have _something_ close to normal happen today. The look on Hikari's face, however, tells him how much she disapproves of this antic; and he knows he has no choice. So he sighs, eyes straying away from his partner's, abruptly finding the shimmering grass beneath him much more fascinating. "It's a long story."

Tailmon's gaze wanders from Hikari's face to his as he speaks, and she stares at him quizzically. Her smile is gone as well. "We've got time."

"We should find something to eat first," Hikari says before Takeru can reply.

"There are trees with plenty of fruit on them just north of here," Patamon tells them, blinking in surprise at the sudden suggestion. "Piyomon and Tentomon were just talking about them."

Takeru chews his lip. He never minds the company of his friends' partners, but he had wanted to keep this between him, Hikari, Tailmon, and Patamon. That wish is currently being destroyed. "You're with the other digimon?"

"Yep," Patamon chirps but then frowns once again upon noticing Takeru's anxious expression. It is the same frown he had while playing hide and seek at Ken's apartment. "Why?"

"It's nothing," he says with a shake of his head. Perhaps this is for the better. The more digimon they ask, the more chance they have of figuring out this mess. "Care to show us the way?"

* * *

[time: unknown]

They've been here for longer than she expected, but Hikari doesn't mind. With her back pressed against the rocky wall just inside the mouth of the cave, her gaze lazily drifts skyward, where stars glisten and twinkle alongside a silver-tinted crescent moon. The clock on her d-terminal is frozen at 6:03 p.m.—approximately the time she and Takeru had left their own world—but since the sun has set, she's guessing it's well past nine.

The whole evening has been peaceful. Takeru's backpack lays untouched on the other side of the cave. The fire crackles and hisses in front of her, offering a steady and comforting warmth. Flames can easily draw attention to their location, she knows, but it won't be hard to extinguish it if need be. They should have wandered a little farther into the cave, but with Tailmon, Patamon, and the other digimon by her side, she feels safe enough at the entrance.

The digimon seem just as confused as they are. Hikari half expected this, but still, she had remained hopeful. Usually, Takeru is the optimistic one. Her heart aches as she thinks about the doubt that had lingered across her best friend's face hours ago. It's unsettling to see him so troubled. She rests her chin on her knees, mind whirling.

"Your parents are going to worry," Tailmon comments absentmindedly, pinning Hikari with a concerned stare.

Hikari hums, her eyes straying to the blond boy resting peacefully against the wall beside her. Sure, sleeping upright like that is probably going to hurt in the morning, but Hikari doesn't have the heart to wake him. After they had eaten, Takeru claimed he was not tired—but the dark circles shadowing his eyes tell her otherwise. She wonders briefly if he's gotten much rest at all this week or if his headaches have prevented him from sleeping.

"Our parents think we met Miyako at the library and went to her house," Hikari says eventually without looking away from her friend.

It's true. She'd sent a message to Miyako briefly explaining that they were in the digital world (but not _why_ , which made Miyako understandably suspicious), and she had asked her to cover for them. Miyako had reluctantly agreed. It feels risky and wrong—especially because she had not been there to call her mother herself—but Hikari forces herself to think that it's for the best. Even if it means they'll have a mess to clean up tomorrow.

"Should we wake him up?" Gomamon asks quietly.

"He looks exhausted," Patamon murmurs. He pushes himself into the air and tugs on Takeru's coat until his human partner is decently covered. Rubs his cheek against Takeru's with a sorrowful expression. "How long did you say he's been having these headaches?"

"About a week and a half," Hikari says softly, unable to take her eyes off her best friend.

Patamon expels some sort of pitying sound, curling closer to his partner. Gabumon ventures toward him as well, draping an arm over Takeru's chest in an effort to keep him warm. A sweet gesture, Hikari thinks.

She's still trying to wrap her head around what she's learned today. She had known that something was up with her best friend at school, but Takeru had brushed off her concerns until a few hours ago. She still can't shake the image of Takeru quivering and wide-eyed on her doorstep. And after his tremors had calmed and his headache had finally faded, he'd told her not to worry.

Just like at Ken's party.

Just like at school.

Underneath that reassuring smile, however, was very real fear. A vulnerability which he'd tried so desperately to hide; like it was buried treasure. She doesn't want to think about what would have happened if he hadn't come to the digital world with her. He looked ready to collapse from pain back at her apartment.

Even if their digimon partners don't know much about the creatures hunting Takeru, they can't find him here, and she takes comfort in that. Perhaps he will rest better here than on Earth.

_He's safer here. At least for tonight._

She sighs under her breath, hoping they will figure something else out. Pulls out her d-terminal. The clock may be frozen—although she does not know why—but every other feature on the device functions normally. She'll send another message to Miyako.

"What're you thinking, Hikari?" Tailmon asks her curiously.

"We're staying here for the night," she says softly, before creating a new draft to type out a swift message:

_I know this is a lot to ask, but could you continue to cover for us tonight? We're still in the digital world, and Takeru fell asleep. I don't want to wake him._

Tailmon blinks as Hikari presses send, and then they're staring into each other's eyes. Hikari says in a whisper, "I'll ask him when he wants to leave when he wakes up."

"Do you want us to go back with you?"

"Maybe he will be safer with me there," Patamon adds, eyes hopeful and watery.

"Maybe," Hikari agrees, sending him a tender smile. "We'll see when he wakes up."

Her d-terminal buzzes and beeps, signaling that Miyako has replied. She glances at Takeru, making sure that the noise had not disturbed his slumber, and is relieved when she sees that his eyes are still closed, chest rising and falling faintly. Looks back down at her screen.

_Sure,_ Miyako has written. _What's going on? Is Takeru ok? You owe me a soda for this, Hikari._

She giggles at the last part, but her expression quickly becomes solemn as she types a reply of her own. She dislikes being untruthful to her friends—and to her parents, for that matter—but there isn't an explanation for what happened to Takeru. They have no idea what these things are, and Takeru wants to that find out first. Hikari can only hope it doesn't take them long. Still...

_I'll explain everything later. Thank you so much. And yes, I'll buy you a soda. I promise._

"We should go with you as well," Tentomon says, almost excitedly. "I want to see Koushiro-han!"

"Taichi, too," Agumon chirps.

"And Ken-chan," Wormmon adds.

Another beep. Hikari glances at her screen again. _I'm holding that to you. Be safe. Tell Hawkmon I said hi, and that I'm going to drag him back here as soon as I can!_

"Takeru said he doesn't want others to know yet," Gomamon tells them, although he appears a little dejected as he says the words. "As much as I want to see Jou, I... I think it's best if we stay here for now."

"He's right," Hawkmon says solemnly with a nod. "We should follow Takeru's wishes, for now."

"Humans and their secrets," V-mon mutters, crossing his arms and sitting on the ground with a pout.

"I do miss Iori," Armodillomon says wistfully, staring at the fire with a glint of sadness in his eyes.

Hikari's heart constricts with guilt. At least the younger group of digimon have seen their partners last weekend, but it has been almost a month since her brother and the others had gotten a chance to see their digimon.

"Miyako says hi," she tells Hawkmon, before hastily adding, "I'll see about getting everyone else to come to visit. I know they miss you guys, too."

They all perk up at that, which makes Hikari smile. She types a quick reply to Miyako before her eyes wander back to Takeru, noticing Piyomon and Palmon are cuddled around him now, almost protectively. She hopes Takeru sleeps soundly through the night. Tailmon curls in her lap, tail brushing against her leg, soft and gentle like the caress of butterfly wings.

"I have a bad feeling about this," the kitten digimon purrs under her breath with a faraway look in her eyes. Her gaze is trapped on the crackling fire.

Hikari worries her lip, looking skyward again, lost in the endless starry patterns and timid whispers of the wind. "You're not alone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback is greatly appreciated!


	5. Blue Child

**Ch 04 || Blue Child**

[date: unknown; time: unknown]

"Onii-chan! Onii-chan! I wanna walk with you!"

Yamato blinked upon hearing the familiar voice, instantly wondering where the speaker was. Tiny hands pulled at his shirt, prompting him to glance down. Sky blue eyes gazed back at him, crinkled with a smile: innocent and hopeful and excited. Blond hair. Small, pale face. Takeru.

Three-year-old—maybe four—Takeru, staring happily up at him, laughing and tugging at his sleeve. Confusion brewed in Yamato's stomach and he looked around. A grocery store. He was in a grocery store with his kid brother, who was nine years younger than he should have been.

"C'mon, c'mon, Onii-chan!"

"O-ok, kiddo," he managed, trying to act as if he wasn't utterly confused. Still, when Takeru reached for him, automatic instinct was to pick him up. Takeru was tiny and didn't weigh much, but Yamato was baffled to find that his own arms and hands were much smaller than normal. Which meant _he_ was younger as well.

_What... what the hell?_

Takeru laughed again, and it was a musical, infectious sound. His younger brother's laughter was always contagious. But it was weird, hearing it from a boy at the delicate age of three. Despite his confusion, Yamato found himself smiling ever so slightly, shifting Takeru so he had a better grip.

"Hey, hey, buddy," another familiar voice cut in. "You have to stay in the cart. This place is too big for you to be running around. Your mother will kill me if I come home with only one of you."

His mother? Yamato was startled when steady hands reached for Takeru before he could dwell on it, and then he was gazing disconcertedly up at a younger version of his father. He looked a little tired, but there was an easy smile on his face that Yamato had not seen in a long time. What was he doing in the middle of a grocery store with his family who had been separated for the past eight years? Why were they younger?

"I'll hold him," Yamato offered without thinking just as his father's hands carefully clasped around Takeru's small waist. He wasn't sure why he said it—it just came out on instinct. Not that Takeru seemed to mind. "Really, it's not a big deal."

His father looked surprised, if only for a few seconds. Then another smile touched his lips and he patted Yamato's head affectionately, which made Yamato feel incredibly small. "Alright, bud. But if he wants down, you have to put him in the cart. Ok?"

He nodded slowly, allowing his gaze to wander. Takeru's arms threaded around his neck and squirmed, and Yamato shifted him again, thinking he might be uncomfortable. But a quick glance down showed him Takeru still seemed content where he was.

Bewilderment was heavy in his chest. He remembered coming home late from Sora's last night after helping Taichi study, exhausted and sore from the day's events; and his father had arrived barely fifteen minutes after he did. They both went to bed shortly after, choosing to snack on the previous night's leftovers for a quick supper because neither of them had the energy to prepare a proper meal. Yamato had been out the moment his head hit his pillow.

Now his dad was walking down a busy aisle, nine or so years lifted off his shoulders. Yamato wasn't sure if there was a gray hair on his head. Did... did he even smoke? He didn't smell cigarettes on him.

What… what day was it? What _year_ was it? Asking his father would probably make him look insane.

"Yamato? You alright?"

Yamato blinked, pulled away from his thoughts by his father's voice. He was a good six or seven feet ahead of him now, and Takeru was staring at him with wide, curious blue eyes as if to question him why they had not moved.

"Yeah," he answered and cleared his throat when he realized that the word had come out too soft for his father to hear him. Then, louder: "Yeah, m'fine, Dad. I'm coming."

His dad nodded, waiting for him to catch up before continuing through the aisle. Yamato followed him through the store, remaining inside his head with Takeru clinging to him, abruptly silent. His eyes once again drifted around the store, drawing in the contents of food on the shelves and the people sauntering around them. It was quiet, and that only added to Yamato's unease.

His heart fluttered with relief when his gaze found a stand located at the end of the aisle. A newspaper stand. Newspapers had dates on them. When their father looked down at a piece of paper Yamato assumed was their shopping list and decided they had retrieved all items they could in this aisle, Yamato tossed an inconspicuous glance toward the stand.

His breath caught in his throat and his eyes popped wide. It was the middle of July.

In _1995._

Before the digital world.

Before his parents broke up.

_I must be dreaming,_ was his first thought, trying to calm the terror that skyrocketed through him as he tore his gaze away from the newspaper. _That's it. I'm still asleep._

"You two are awfully quiet," his father quipped suddenly, startling Yamato out of his reverie. "Are you sure you're alright?"

In his arms, Takeru squirmed a little. Yamato tried balancing him on his hip and glanced at him when Takeru did it again. His eyes immediately fell on his little brother.

His face contorted slightly as though feeling discomfort. Yamato's brows shot up. "What is it, little bro?"

Oh. _Oh._ Realization clicked the moment Takeru's fingers curled into his shirt.

"Do you have to go to the bathroom?" his father asked before Yamato had the chance, turning his attention away from the cart so he could kneel in front of both boys.

Takeru nodded meekly, and Yamato looked around without hesitation. His father said, "There's one just around the corner."

"I'll take him," Yamato volunteered, if only to get away from his father to attempt to figure out what was going on.

His father paused, unexpectedly hesitant. Yamato was confused, at first, before realizing that he was trapped in the body of his seven-year-old self, and Takeru wasn't even four yet. They were young and vulnerable. His reluctance to let them go alone was understandable, even though it was just ten feet away. But Yamato really needed a moment to think.

"Just stay here," Yamato said, shifting Takeru so he could place him on the ground. Made sure Takeru's hand was safely tucked into his own. "We'll be right back."

"Yamato—"

"Don't worry," he assured. "It'll be fine. Right, Takeru?"

There was no answer. With a sigh, his father turned to position the cart so it was resting in front of them, rather than behind him. Yamato's eyes landed on Takeru's, only to find that his little brother's attention was focused on something else.

He stared unblinkingly at the unoccupied aisle opposite of them. Tiny blond brows furrowed slightly. Yamato frowned, confused once again at his brother's surprisingly solemn expression.

"Teek? Hey, Takeru, whatcha looking at?"

"The boy."

Yamato paused, taken aback. "What boy?"

"He's all alone, Nii-chan. Did he lose his mama?"

Yamato's gaze swept their surroundings, but he saw nothing. The corner of the store in which they stood was now almost empty. A woman strolled leisurely passed them, but the child accompanying her was a girl who looked a little older than Yamato. There was no boy. But Takeru's eyes remained locked on the vacant aisle.

"I... I don't see him, kiddo."

"He's right there," Takeru murmured woodenly, blue eyes a little cloudy. His fingers uncurled, and his arms twitched, but he did not try to point in the direction he was facing. "He's… blue. Why is he blue, Nii-chan?"

A whisper of anxiety caused Yamato's stomach to clench and a shiver rippled down his spine. He studied the area again, thinking maybe he missed something. Still, he could not find the child.

"…there's no one there," Yamato said, almost to himself.

"What're you two whispering about?" their father asked as he faced the two again, capturing Yamato's attention. There was a frown on his face. "I'm going to be waiting right here, alright? If you're not back in a couple of minutes, I'm gonna come check on you. Ok?"

Yamato hummed in reply, fighting the instinct to scoop Takeru back into his arms. "C'mon, Takeru."

He pulled on Takeru's tiny hand, coaxing him to move so he could lead him to the set of restrooms. Takeru seemed a little dazed as they rounded the corner, reluctant to look away from the empty aisle. He would have smacked his head into the drinking fountain if Yamato had not pulled him away in time.

The bathroom had two stalls in it, which were both vacant. Relieved, Yamato leaned against the sink, waiting patiently as his little brother entered a stall for privacy, and it took Takeru a moment to work the latch. Yamato reached out, fingers tracing the tiled wall. It was cold to the touch. What a damn realistic dream this was.

It was then that Yamato faced one of the mirrors, and his insides twisted. He knew that he was younger but knowing it and _seeing_ the proof were two completely different things. His eyes widened when he caught a glimpse of his face, his hair, his small shoulders. He… he really _was_ seven years old, all over again.

_Wake up,_ he commanded himself, before reaching down and pinching the skin on his hand with his thumb and index finger as if that would help any. _I'm still dreaming. This isn't real._

The toilet flushed abruptly, and Takeru was quiet for a few seconds. Then, hesitantly: "Nii-chan?"

"Yeah?" Yamato responded immediately. Dream or not, his little brother was here. "You ok?"

"…it won't… _button._ "

"C'mere." Yamato pushed himself away from the sink. "I'll help you."

"O…ok," Takeru said quietly, before exiting the stall. It didn't take Yamato long to fix Takeru's problem, but it was unnerving to see Takeru bubbly and enthusiastic one moment, and ominously quiet the next. He was a toddler who ten minutes ago had been full of energy. A foreboding feeling settled deep within Yamato's body.

"Hey, don't forget to wash your hands," he chided when Takeru started walking toward the door. He slid his hands underneath Takeru's arms to heave him upward, but the action did little to lift Takeru's mood. "Are you ok, little guy?"

Takeru did not reply until Yamato put him back on the floor and handed him a paper towel to dry his hands. "I wonder where his mama is."

Yamato's brows shot up. "Whose mama?"

"The boy's," Takeru answered softly. "He… he looked scared, Nii-chan."

Yamato could not think of anything to say. Takeru's words carried a portentous tone that made his skin crawl. He seemed a little older than he looked, and yet so young at the same time. It was eerie. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. "C'mon, Teek, let's get back to Dad, ok? He's waiting for us."

This time, Takeru only gave a brief nod, but he slipped his hand into Yamato's and Yamato offered a protective squeeze, once again fighting the impulse to pick him up. Takeru didn't want to be held anymore, but it would have made Yamato feel better to have him in his arms so he wouldn't wander away.

Once they exited the bathroom, Takeru stopped walking. "Nii-chan."

"Hmm?"

"He's back."

Yamato's grip on Takeru's little hand tightened. "C'mon, Teek. Let's go."

Takeru shook his head and made no attempt to move.

"You're scaring me," Yamato admitted in a low voice, looking down at Takeru to capture his gaze.

Except Takeru was staring straight ahead with a solemnity that Yamato had never seen in a three-year-old boy.

"What's your name?" Takeru asked out of nowhere.

Yamato couldn't suppress the shiver that crawled down his spine this time. Their dad was just around the corner, and they'd been gone for longer than a few minutes. Why hadn't he come to check on them? Yamato gently pulled on Takeru's hand once more. "Takeru, we have to go."

Takeru ignored him. His head tilted to the side suddenly, as if he was confused. His eyes looked a little glassy, just like before. "Ichi…rou…" The name came out with a tinge of uncertainty. "Where's your mama and daddy?"

Yamato's terror-filled gaze weaved back and forth, trying to locate the child whom his younger brother was supposedly speaking with. But all he saw was a blank wall and a single fluorescent light. There was no one there.

"Takeru—"

Without warning, Yamato's entire body went inexplicably stiff. Raw fear bulleted through him, head to toe, making his heart pound and his fingers tremble. He attempted to pull Takeru closer to him but instead, his hold on Takeru's hand slackened without his consent.

Something in the air seemed to shift. The whole world had gone quiet, save his own shaky breathing. The dimly-lit corridor that led to the set of restrooms they'd just left seemed much larger all of a sudden, with no entrance or exit, stretched too far for Yamato to be able to see. No matter which direction he picked—left or right—there was no way out. Like a bridge with no end.

Wait. Was… was that a sliver of _blue?_

Then Takeru was giggling.

"Nii-chan! Nii-chan, lookit! _Colors!_ " Long gone was that eerie calmness; now his little brother's voice bled excitement and delight. His hand slipped free of Yamato's grip and before he could stop it, Takeru was running away from him. "So many! So many!"

What colors? In the space of a heartbeat, the string of blue had vanished. Yamato tried to run after him but he could not will his feet to move. His lips parted to shout at him, to call out after him, but no sound escaped him.

So young Takeru continued to giggle and squeal and dance elatedly in the hallway, all alone, moving closer and closer to the shadows, fingers outstretched as though to grab onto something Yamato could not see. His laughter echoed almost tauntingly in the corridor. Then Takeru's small hand clenched, and for a split second—a _tiny_ fraction of a second—Yamato swore he saw somebody pulling on Takeru's wrist.

A boy not much older than Takeru, shrouded in tendrils of blue and purple and inky shadows, no facial features except two pearlesque eyes, glistening hauntingly underneath the fluorescent light.

Before Yamato could blink, the child was gone, like Yamato was watching a video frame by frame.

And he could move again. Yamato gasped sharply, barely able to keep himself upright. His legs felt numb. One hand shot out to steady himself against the wall, turning frantically to face his brother. "Takeru?"

Except Takeru was not there.

_Oh my god._

Tears welled up in Yamato's eyes. No, no, no. _No._ Takeru couldn't be gone. Not his little brother. Just a second ago, he was there. He couldn't just _vanish,_ and certainly not that fast.

Suddenly Yamato felt as young and vulnerable as he looked, and his feet were moving before his brain could register what had just happened. He skidded down the small corridor, face awash with pure terror as his gaze darted around and around. He cupped his fingers around his lips to call out his name—

A name...

Whose name?

Yamato paused, puzzled and disoriented, wondering why his cheeks were damp and what he was doing standing in the back hallway of a grocery store, accompanied only by the low buzz of a public drinking fountain. A foreign, unwanted feeling chewed at the bottom of his stomach, and he could not figure out why he felt so uneasy. Where was his dad? Was... was Yamato looking for something?

Or perhaps... someone?

* * *

[28 February 2004; 7:53 a.m.]

_Takeru... gone..._

_Nnnnn... what...? What's that noise?_

Fifteen-year-old Yamato blearily opens his eyes to the sound of his phone buzzing incessantly. He blinks sluggishly, trying to leave the realm of his dreams and make sense of the world all over again like he does every morning. Soon, the buzzing stops; and Yamato forces sleepy hands to climb out of the comfort of his blanket. Moving around this early is a sin.

_What a freaking weird dream._

His hand fails to find the object he desires, and Yamato has half a mind to roll over and go back to sleep. The idea certainly sounds appealing. And it is Saturday, which means there is no school. Band practice isn't until sometime in the afternoon. He can catch a few more hours...

Except his phone vibrates again, almost in protest. Yamato groans in obvious dismay, throwing his blanket over his head as if he can pretend the device does not exist.

_They've called twice now. Better answer it._

Once again, his hand crawls slowly of his blanket and gropes blindly for his phone. He fumbles and mutters obscenities under his breath before his fingers finally clasp around the device that's giving him so much trouble. On the last ring, he flips it open, not even bothering to check the Caller ID. Mumbles sleepily, "Moshi, moshi."

"Oh, thank goodness," his mother gushes, her voice wobbly with relief. "I've been trying to call your dad but he must be out. Is your brother with you?"

It takes Yamato a moment to process the words. And once realization kicks in, he bolts up, all traces of fatigue scattering like spiders. His brows are furrowed with concern. "No. Why? What's wrong?"

There's a sigh on the other end, and it's too watery for Yamato's liking. His mother sounds like she's about to cry. "He didn't come home last night."

Now he doesn't even care how early it is. The world seems brighter. Too bright. Like's he's fast-forwarded a few hours into the day in a matter of seconds. His heart stutters in his chest. "What?"

"I..." She draws in a tremulous breath. "Usually he calls me at work if he stays somewhere overnight. Or he'll leave notes. I tried to call you last night when I got home, but you must have been asleep... and your father isn't picking up. But Takeru's—he's still not here, and I—" Her voice breaks. "I don't know where he is. I don't know any of his friends' numbers, and he doesn't have a cell phone—"

"Mom, ok, hold on," Yamato interrupts, rubbing his forehead as he struggles to keep up with her rambling. She mumbles when she's worried or panicked, so it's hard to make out any of what she's saying. "Shh, hey, Mom, _Mom,_ calm down. It's ok. It's gonna be ok. I'll...I'll try to get ahold of Taichi and see if—"

"Please let me know if you find him," she pleads.

"I will." He's on his feet, eyes skimming his surroundings for a clean shirt. Tries not to cringe when he realizes how messy the whole room is; he hasn't had time to clean it lately. "I'll call you back in a little bit, ok? He's probably at Daisuke's or something. Don't worry."

His mother pauses, hesitant. Yamato hears her sniffle, and then she says, "...alright. Thank you, Yamato. I'll let you know if he comes home."

"Ok. I'll call you."

"I love you."

She says the words right as he hits the 'end call' button, and by then it's too late to repeat the words back to her. He instantly tries to ignore the guilt this accompanies the realization, but there isn't much time to dwell on it.

All at once, his dream hits him. Now that he's awake and aware, it seems much more real to him. More than just a simple dream. Fifteen-year-olds aren't supposed to be shaken up by silly nightmares. But he can't stop picturing his little brother, wandering off into a hallway bathed in shadows...

_And now Takeru's freaking missing._

A fluttery panic starts somewhere in his stomach as images flash in and out of his mind's eye like a movie on fast-forward, and he struggles to push them out of his head. No way. Dreams are just that— _dreams._ Images and thoughts created by your subconscious while you're asleep. There is no connection. It's stupid to even consider a connection. Takeru's ok. Takeru's fine. He isn't _gone._ He's probably with, hell, Iori or somebody. But it isn't like Takeru to go somewhere without telling anyone.

In a rush, he pulls on his t-shirt. Doesn't even care enough to change out of his sweatpants. Combs his hair with his fingers, not pausing to check it in the mirror before turning around to see where he'd put his phone.

"It's still in your hand, dumbass," he mutters to himself, frowning. "Get ahold of yourself."

Unsteady fingers punch in Taichi's number, and his legs are moving just for the sake of moving.

One ring. Yamato's already looking for a pair of socks.

Two rings. Where are his damn socks?

Three rings. His heart is beating wildly.

Four rings. He can't find his socks.

Five rings. Why isn't Taichi picking up? He needs to know where his little brother is.

"Mosh—"

"Taichi," he all but yells into the phone, probably in a tone similar to his mother's. Taichi expels a cry of dismay, and he clears his throat, forcing himself to lower his voice. "Hey, is uh, is your sister there?"

"Why are you calling me at"—there's a shuffling noise, followed by a grumpy sigh—"eight in the morning on a Saturday to ask if my sister is home?"

Yamato rolls his eyes, even though Taichi can't see or hear the gesture. He sounds more amused than suspicious, but Yamato isn't in the mood. He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying not to fight the urge to scream. "My mom called me and said Takeru didn't come home last night, and I was wondering if she was with him or if she knows where he's at. And it's not like I have her number."

"Oh," is Taichi's response. There's another pause, and Taichi murmurs around a yawn, "Hika wasn't home when I got home last night, either. Mom said she was with Takeru at Miyako's for some school project."

Relief splinters through Yamato's body, and he finds himself falling back toward his bed, heaving a grateful sigh. That's good to hear. Except... "Wait, Miyako is a grade above Hikari and Takeru."

"Probably why they asked for her help," Taichi replies. "We asked Jou to help us study, remember? Heck, we even asked _Koushiro._ "

" _You_ asked Koushiro and Jou," Yamato corrects, before realizing he's getting off topic. "Takeru would have told Mom that he left."

"Maybe he just forgot," Taichi supplies.

Yamato suppresses a frustrated sigh. It's likely true, but his mind is still clouded with images of Takeru disappearing in front of his very eyes and he can't think straight. It's childish of him to be this affected by a dream, but he can't shake the feeling that something very _wrong_ is happening to his sibling.

(There are his stupid socks.)

"...mato? Hey, Yamato? Dude, what's eating you? I can hear you cursing," Taichi says, sounding a little more awake than he did moments ago.

"Nothing. It's nothing," he snaps, before sucking in a sharp breath. Getting worked up isn't going to solve anything. Then, in a calmer voice: "It's nothing."

Taichi falls silent on the other end. Yamato is just about to bid his farewells when his friend says, "Hey, I'll see if I can get Hikari to answer her d-terminal. Head on over here if you'd like."

Yamato pauses, taking a moment to think about it. It's a tempting idea. "Alright. Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Adds shortly after, "Hey, Takeru's a big kid. He'll be alright."

Yamato chews the inside of his lip. "Yeah. See you, Taichi."

"See you."

Flipping his phone shut, Yamato stalks to the other side of his room to grab his wallet and then he realizes something. Why didn't _Yamato_ think to contact Takeru via d-terminal? It's just as good as having a phone.

"Ugh. One task. Focus on one freaking task at a time," he tells himself. "Why am I talking to myself? Damn it!"

He freezes upon hearing a set of keys jingle somewhere outside his door, and then his father is peeping his head in Yamato's room, clad in a thick jacket, brows raised. Even without the sound of his keys moving around to capture his attention, the unpleasant but familiar scent of cigarette smoke makes Yamato instantly aware of his father's presence. "Um, you alright, son?"

_"Yamato? You alright?"_

Yamato blinks, and for a moment, he thinks he sees a younger version of his dad standing in the doorway. It's gone soon, but it's long enough to send a shiver through his body. His fingers curl instinctively into fists.

"M'fine," he mutters when he notices his father is gazing at him expectantly.

"You're up early," his dad muses.

He hums, distracted as he turns around, inwardly shaking his head. _Snap out of it._

"I just woke up. Did you get Mom's call?"

It's his father's turn to blink. There's a confused frown on his face, and he leans against the door frame. "...no. We were out of coffee grounds, so I—" He pauses, blinking again. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Yeah." He sighs heavily, once again wiping at his forehead as if brushing away sweat. He's baffled to find that he's _actually_ sweating, and he's not sure why. "Teek didn't come home last night and Mom was worried... but he's alright. He's with Hikari."

Saying this out loud doesn't make Yamato feel better, and he knows even _he_ doesn't sound convinced. His father's concerned expression tells him so.

He sighs, turning away from Yamato's door for a few seconds. He's carrying a grocery bag, Yamato realizes. It comes to his attention once again that it is Saturday, his father's usual day off unless the station calls him in for assistance. There's a moment of scuffling and rustling as his dad places the plastic bag on the table. A series of beeps. His mother's frantic voice plays through the answering machine seconds later, asking the same questions that she'd asked Yamato.

He comes back then, his face ashen, his forehead marked with creases of worry. "You said you found him, right? He's ok?"

Yamato turns around again, attempting to look distracted, now remembering that he should update his mother. His mind is whirling. "Yeah. I'm heading to Taichi's right now."

"Do you want me to drive you there? The snow didn't stick overnight, but it's still chilly out there."

A peek down at his cell. 8:10 a.m. The sooner he arrives at Taichi's, the sooner this unsettling feeling will leave. Not that he will admit this out loud. He keeps his face away from his dad, not wanting him to see how uneasy he is.

Instead, he gives a gruff, "Sure."

"Alright. I'll go warm up the van again." Then, after several heartbeats of silence: "Oh, Yamato?"

"Hmm?"

"Your shirt is inside out," he quips as he walks away.

Yamato grumbles, ignoring the way his face burns. He waits until his father exits the apartment to fix it.

The drive to Taichi's takes a little over ten minutes, and yet it only feels like two. It's strange and awkward and quiet but somehow too fast. His father's silence is both unnerving and comforting—Yamato's not in the mood to talk. Not that his father is any good at making conversation, anyway. His gaze remains locked on the passenger side window, watching the world blur by in a daze. Pretends his heart isn't trying to sink through his ribcage. Because his brother is fine. It's just a silly, stupid nightmare.

But in his head he's still promising, _I'm coming, Takeru. Don't worry._

"Do you want me to stay out here so I can take you both home?"

His father's voice is gruff as he parks in front of Taichi's apartment complex, but there's a concerned undertone that's hard to ignore. His eyes are tired and older than they should be.

Yamato sighs. "No, I..." He doesn't know. Quickly tosses out, "I'm gonna stay here for a while... Taichi invited me over for a bit. I'll make sure Takeru gets home ok, though. I promise."

"...alright," his dad says after a long pause, finally shifting the van into park and letting his foot off the break. "But it's too cold to walk, so call me if you need a ride. Did you get ahold of your mother?"

Damn it. "Yeah, I'll call her. Thanks for the lift."

"Tell your brother to let us know where he's going next time, ok? You guys are still kids, you know."

Yamato nods, already opening the door and sliding out of the car. "Yeah. Thanks, dad. See you."

He walks a little faster than necessary to get to the familiar staircase leading up to Taichi's floor. Sends a brief text to his mother to assure that Takeru's ok, even if it's a lie. He watches his father drive off in the corner of his eye, but he doesn't pay any heed to him as he begins his ascent to his friend's apartment. A chilled breeze licks at his face and he pulls his jacket closer to him, shoving his hands in pockets in a lame attempt to keep them warm. But the cold weather is the least of his concerns.

His phone buzzes right as he reaches the final step. Curious, he pulls it out of his pocket and flips it open to reveal a text from Taichi:

_So they're not at miyakos, but i know where they went._

_I'm here,_ he types as an answer.

_Doors open and mom went out. Cmin._

He bites his lip, once again trying to ignore the icy knot in his stomach. Where is his brother, if he's not at Miyako's? As soon as he enters the apartment, Taichi offers a half-wave. He's sitting on the sofa, hair askew and only half dressed. He's munching a piece of toast, phone in his hand.

Yamato slips out of his damp shoes. His brows quirk upward. "Where is he?"

Taichi takes a moment to swallow, brushing crumbs from the corner of his lip. "I was getting ready to tell you."

"Well?"

Taichi heaves a sigh, pushing himself up off the sofa and shoving the rest of the piece of his toast in his mouth. Then he turns and heads toward his bedroom, gesturing for him to follow. "She told me earlier that she was at Miyako's, but when I shot Miyako a message, she seemed... nervous. So I pried a little." He plops unceremoniously onto his desk chair, chest pressed against the headrest. "And then I noticed that my computer was on and..."

His touches the mouse briefly, which elicits a low hum from the monitor before the screen lights up.

Yamato's eyes pop. "Why is the digital port pulled up?"

"I didn't know, at first," Taichi says. "I didn't even realize it was on until you called me. It was closed earlier. So I asked Hikari and... well."

"Why would they go to the digital world overnight?" Yamato asks, feeling the small sphere of ice in his gut start to expand. This doesn't sound good at all.

"Beats me. We're about to find out."

Yamato leans against the wall, eyes coming to rest on the computer and unwilling to leave it. A quick image of three-year-old Takeru flashes in his mind and he stills, working his jaw. Questions are ricocheting in his mind like bullets.

Taichi's lips part as though to ask him something, but before he can speak, the room explodes with light.

Yamato flinches, one arm instinctively rising to guard his eyes. There's a strange rift in the air that's always present when they travel through the computer. Seconds later, it is gone, and four silhouettes stand in its place.

Yamato barely has time to register what had happened before Takeru hits the floor. Hikari's following him instantly despite looking incredibly dazed, and Patamon shouts his name in horror.

Without even thinking Yamato propels himself forward, panic flowing through him like water. Takeru's face is contorted with pain.

"Teek? Hey, hey, buddy, what's wrong?" His hands come to rest on Takeru's shoulders, staring at his little brother with dinner plate eyes. His insides twist and churn with fear. "Takeru? Look at me, little bro."

Takeru's hands are cradling his head, and it takes him several moments to respond. Eventually, Tailmon asks in a whisper, "Your headache is back, isn't it?"

A slow, shaky breath. Takeru blinks, fingers quaking as he lowers them, his eyes misty and out of focus. Yamato's hands move to his neck, his cheeks, his forehead.

"What happened?" Taichi asks Hikari solemnly, but his voice is like background music. Yamato's gaze remains locked on his little brother's face.

Takeru blinks again, slow and uncertain, as if just realizing Yamato is there. "N...Nii-san...?"

Yamato expels a shuddering sigh of relief. His arms slide around his little brother and he pulls him close, resting his chin on Takeru's head, feeling the ice in his stomach begin to melt just a little now that his brother is with him. He doesn't care that he has an audience. Takeru is here and safe and definitely not disappearing into a random hallway with some strange little kid. Still, the image is burned into his mind like an unwanted memory and holding Takeru is the only thing that reminds him that it was just a dream.

"You scared me," he murmurs into his hair, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

Takeru goes still, for a fraction of a second. Then he relaxes, fingers curling into Yamato's jacket. He hears Hikari's voice somewhere close to him but doesn't pay any heed to what she had said.

"Nii-san..." Takeru hedges in a hoarse whisper. "...you're shaking."

Yamato doesn't care.


	6. Until Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Feedback is much appreciated. ^^

**05 || Until Morning**

[28 February 2004; 8:33 a.m.]

Yamato is an uncontrollable earthquake, squeezing Takeru tightly enough to make him briefly wonder if it will bruise. With his head tucked underneath Yamato's chin, and rendered unable to move, the only thing Takeru can do is return the embrace. The straps on his backpack feel awkward on his shoulders and his brain is hazy. His and Hikari's coats have fallen, abandoned, on Taichi's bedroom floor.

But he does not say a word. He has not seen Yamato act this terrified in a long time. What could have happened to make his older brother so frightened?

"You should have told somebody where you went," Yamato breathes out after a long pause.

Even though his voice is quiet, there is no mistaking the vulnerability and fear lacing his words. He does not sound like Onii-san. Regardless, his older brother pulls back just a little as he speaks, and Takeru chews his lip, trying to ignore the sharp stab of pain that attacks his skull. It isn't as bad as it was a minute ago, but it's still difficult to push it aside entirely. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I—" He stops, and then, in a soft whisper: "I'm glad you're ok."

Guilt swamps Takeru in heavy waves, rushing through his whole body with such force that he feels like he is drowning. They were only supposed to be in the digital world for a few hours. That was the plan. Takeru did not mean to fall asleep—he remembers leaning against the wall of the cave and resting his eyes for a few precious moments, and then it was morning. Because of that, Hikari was forced to lie to her brother and her parents to avoid suspicion. But her cover story didn't reach Yamato or his mom, though, and now his brother is a holding onto him like he hasn't seen him in years.

"Are _you_ ok, Onii-san?" Takeru murmurs, looking up at him. Yamato's eyes are puddled with relief, but his face is ashen.

A low, small breath. A soundless nod. Then he's pushing himself to his feet and helping Takeru up. His hands brush against Takeru's forehead as though to check him for a fever.

"I'm not sick," he tells his brother with a frown.

"Are you sure?" Taichi asks, resting a hand on Takeru's shoulder. "You dropped as if somebody tackled you."

Hikari catches his eye then. A frown mares her face; Patamon and Tailmon are looking at him like they're awaiting his approval to speak. The guilt sloshing inside him only intensifies.

When everyone is silent, Taichi's gaze falls back on Hikari. His brows are furrowed as he regards her with concern, as though making sure she hasn't fallen ill, either. Prompts, "What were you doing in the digital world? Is... is something up?"

_Is something up?_ loosely translates to: "Is something out there causing trouble?"

Hikari and Takeru share another look that bleeds uncertainty, which draws more attention than Takeru would have liked. Yamato's eyes blow wide with suspicion. His body is still as stone. "What's going on?"

His voice is apprehensive and it makes Takeru want to blurt everything out just like he did yesterday. But there's still a spark of fear lingering in Yamato's unwavering stare, and Takeru's first instinct is to put that fear to rest. Yamato is rarely scared—at least, not openly, not like this. Seeing his older brother so uneasy makes _him_ uneasy. Telling Yamato will only make him more upset.

"Nothing's going on," Hikari answers as if reading his thoughts, with a resolve that seems well-practiced. She tears her gaze away from Takeru to look at their older siblings. "We just wanted a quiet place to study...if we told Mom, she'd worry. The digital world scares her sometimes. So I told her we were at Miyako's."

"It's my fault we stayed overnight," Takeru adds, bestowing his brother with a shaky grin. "I accidentally fell asleep. I guess going through the portal made me dizzy, and, well..."

He leaves the sentence hanging, and the silence that follows is unsettling. Taichi and Yamato look unconvinced for several suspended moments, but Takeru forces himself to smile wider and he sees Hikari mimic his actions out of the corner of his eye. He hopes that they won't question the presence of their partners—but then, it's not uncommon for their digimon to visit Earth during the weekends.

"I'm hungry, Takeru," Patamon says before either of their brothers can speak, flying into Takeru's now free arms. Patamon may be worried, but he's thankful for his partner's ability to hide said emotion. "What's for breakfast?"

_Good. A change of subject._

To Takeru's surprise, Yamato smiles. Then he's chuckling: a soft, low sound, tinged with unadulterated relief. For some reason, this makes Takeru feel even worse, and he immediately wants to know why Yamato was so worried—this isn't the first time they've gone to the digital world to stay the night, after all. "Yeah. Yeah, you probably should eat. You got something to eat last night, didn't you?"

"We did," Takeru confirms. At least that part is true.

"We can make something now," Taichi suggests. "How about it, sis? You hungry?"

Hikari nods, lips curling with the promise of a giggle. "Sure. But you should probably put a shirt on first."

Taichi rolls his eyes and turns, scanning the room briefly before taking a few steps toward his bed. Picks up a shirt that's balled up on his blanket. He gives it a good sniff before shrugging and slugs the article of clothing over his shoulder.

Yamato pats Takeru's cheek affectionately before Taichi beckons him out of the room so they can find something to cook. Takeru makes a move to follow with Patamon now sitting on his shoulder, but freezes when slender fingers curl around his wrist and pull him backward.

"You did not collapse because of dizziness," Hikari murmurs, her expression openly solemn now that they are not being scrutinized by their siblings.

Takeru chews the inside of his lip. It's not like he can ignore what just happened; not in front of Hikari. Admits hesitantly, "...I wasn't expecting the headache to come back so quickly. It's faded a little now, though."

"I knew it," Tailmon whispers with her eyes narrowed. "So that means—"

"Oi! Are you two coming or what?"

Taichi's voice cuts through Tailmon's sentence before she can finish, causing both children to jump in surprise and turn toward the door. Takeru sighs under his breath, scratching the fur behind Patamon's ears. "We better go."

"Right," she says. Then, so Taichi can hear: "Yeah, Onii-san, we're coming!"

Yamato and Taichi have already decided on what to make. Yamato is standing in front of the sink with a medium-sized bowl, rinsing a generous portion of white rice to prepare it for cooking. Taichi is peaking into an open fridge, now wearing the shirt he'd picked up earlier.

"Eggs over rice sit well with you guys?" Yamato asks as the two enter the kitchen.

"Sounds good to me," Takeru replies, while Patamon nods vigorously, drawing out another giggle from Hikari. Then Takeru faces his best friend, suddenly remembering, "We left our coats in Taichi's room."

"Oh, you're right," she says, and turns back to fetch them. Quickly adds, "You can leave your backpack in my room, if you want."

Takeru nods and follows, and without missing a beat, Tailmon says softly so only they can hear, "I was going to say, that means whatever you saw yesterday can't track you while you're in the digital world."

Takeru blinks, confused. "Why?"

Her eyes lose a little bit of their usual spark, and her ears flatten slightly against her head. "I'm not sure. I'm not even certain how it's tracking you in the first place."

"But that is a good thing, right, Takeru?" Patamon chirps, and winces as he realizes how loud he had spoken, and continues in a softer tone, "You can come visit me and not be in pain!"

Takeru falls silent, swooping down to pick up his and Hikari's coats. Going to the digital world had been wonderful yesterday, but he isn't sure if he can make it a frequent occurrence. But if it means his headache will fade completely...

"Yeah," he murmurs, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Sounds like a good plan, Pata."

He tails Hikari as she exits the room, and they quickly head into Hikari's bedroom, careful not to speak again until her door clicks shut. Takeru sheds his backpack, having almost forgotten he was still carrying it, and Hikari says, "Do you think you're going to spend another night there, tonight?"

Takeru pauses. "...maybe. I don't know. I don't want to lie to anybody, not more than I have to. I—" His eyes glisten with guilt as he looks back at her. "I'm sorry I made you lie so much already."

"It's not your fault," Hikari says, with a reassuring smile. "We'll figure it out, Takeru. We always do."

Despite her words, the fact that he's making her hide the truth is a heavy and unwanted weight on his conscious. She shouldn't have to cover for him like this. It feels... it feels _wrong._

"Hey," Hikari says, struggling to capture his gaze again. "Takeru."

"I don't know what to do," he admits honestly. He feels vulnerable and lost like he's seven years old again, and it's an uncomfortable, unsettling feeling. "I don't want to lie to Onii-san."

"We can talk to him. If you want to."

"You saw him," Takeru whispers, raking a hand through his hair. "He was...so scared. I don't want to scare him like that again."

Hikari doesn't respond. She looks as nervous as he feels, which isn't encouraging. A shudder crawls up Takeru's spine as he thinks about what transpired barely fifteen minutes ago, and it takes a lot of willpower to dispel the unpleasant sensation.

"You two need to eat," Tailmon tells them, her voice firm. "Worrying like this isn't doing any good. Besides, they're going to wonder what we're up to if we stay in here for much longer."

Takeru sighs. "You're right. Sorry."

"We'll think of something," Patamon tells him, pressing his cheek against Takeru's in an attempt to comfort him. "Don't worry."

It's easier said than done. But he wipes his expression clean anyway as they make their way back out of her bedroom. They've been gone long enough that Yamato has already transferred the rice from a bowl to a covered pot, and he's setting a timer on the stove. He's on the phone, Takeru realizes, and he's got it wedged between his shoulder and his cheek.

"...no, no, I told you, he's fine, Mom. I'll keep an eye on him. Oh—hold on, he's right here. I'll put him on the phone. Takeru, it's Mom."

Takeru doesn't have time to prepare himself before Yamato is walking toward him and handing him his cell phone, and all of a sudden, "Takeru? Are you there?"

"...y-yeah, hi, Mom. I'm here," he answers, unable to think of a better response.

There's this strange, watery sound of relief that seems a little more like a sob than a sigh. She mutters something under her breath, and Takeru swears it's in French, but before he can ponder too deeply on that thought, she breathes out, "I was so worried."

"I know," he says softly, feeling his heart seep far below his ribcage. "I'm sorry, Mom."

"Please," she whispers with a tearful undertone, "let me know where you're going, if you plan on spending the night somewhere. You could have—"

"I know," he repeats. "I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

He rubs his forehead, and Hikari treks into kitchen, probably to give him a little privacy. He fiddles with the hem of his shirt—if only to give his hands something to do—and he realizes she's been speaking this whole time and he hasn't caught a word.

"—with your brother. Ok? Takeru?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. Yeah, ok," he mumbles.

"Ok," she repeats, in a steadier voice than before. "Ok. I love you, Takeru."

"I love you, too." He swallows. "Bye, Mom."

"Goodbye, son."

He flips the phone shut, and immediately, Yamato says, "She's gonna be working late tonight."

Takeru hums. She always works on Saturdays. "I know."

"So you're staying with me, ok?"

Takeru's eyes pop and a sliver of panic threads through his veins. "What?"

Don't get him wrong, staying at his brother's place for the night is not something Takeru normally declines. But he was just talking with Hikari about his plans for the evening, and he thought he had the whole day to decide. This throws his day off entirely. What if his headache returns? What if that... that _thing_ comes after him? What will he do then?

"You're staying with Dad and me tonight," Yamato repeats firmly. "He's off today."

In the corner of the kitchen, Hikari appears concerned. There's a look in Yamato's eyes that dares Takeru to argue, and he already knows that there is no backing out of it. Yamato is not going to take "no" for an answer.

Takeru inwardly sighs and bites his lip, but not out of annoyance or exasperation. He's more mad at himself, than anyone else. After worrying him so badly, he owes Yamato this much. He can figure out his next move tomorrow, he supposes.

"Alright," he says finally.

Yamato nods, almost in approval. "I can call Dad so we can stop and pack you a bag. Sound good?"

"Ok."

Twenty-five minutes later has Takeru sitting cross-legged on the sofa with an empty bowl and chopsticks in hand and Patamon curled in his lap, appearing more catlike than Tailmon at the moment. Hikari says as she sits down beside him, "It looks like it's getting ready to snow again."

"Great," he mumbles, without enthusiasm. He's really not fond of this type of weather.

Yamato sighs, brows furrowed as if lost in thought. "Dang. I was gonna call Dad, but I don't want him to drive if it's snowing..."

"It probably won't snow for long," Taichi supplies. "It didn't last night, remember? C'mon, let's watch a movie or something."

They both wander to other side of the front room to decide, scanning through a small shelf of VHS tapes and DVDs. Within a time span of thirty seconds, they're already arguing.

Takeru's mouth twitches in a tiny smile before Hikari taps his knee. Uncertainty flickers in her gaze as she murmurs almost inaudibly, "You'll keep me updated tonight, right? Message me if something happens."

He nods soundlessly before adding, "Ok."

He desperately hopes he won't have to.

* * *

[10:43 p.m.]

Takeru pretends he's asleep until he's sure Yamato is out. His brother turned the light out about an hour ago—which is early for Yamato, Takeru thinks; he rarely goes to bed before eleven—and Yamato's eyes were shadowed with fatigue then. It's been a long day, for both of them. He'll be surprised if Yamato _isn't_ asleep.

He peeks an eye open half-lidded, trying to catch a glimpse of Yamato's face. Except his brother is facing away from him, and he knows Yamato is a light sleeper. He doesn't want to risk speaking. A glance to his left shows Patamon has drifted into slumber as well, and Takeru is reminded that all of them were awake before eight o'clock this morning. Of course, they are exhausted.

But Takeru is not tired at all.

If anything, he's extremely confused. He has spent all day with Yamato, and usually, that would warm his heart. Spending time together is a rarity, even now that he's moved to Odaiba. Yamato has his band, and his mother and father work more than they should. Plus, the school year will end in April. It's always hard for them to visit each other this time of year.

He rolls onto his back slowly, eyes trained on the ceiling. Perhaps Tailmon and Patamon are right. The strange creature that tried to touch him in the library cannot reach him in the digital world. But how come, when he and Hikari traveled through the digital portal this morning, his headache returned for only a few minutes? He knows it was foolish to think the ache would not come back at all. Whatever he saw yesterday isn't going to give up that easy. Sure, he had not expected immediate pain, but he knew that returning to Earth was going to put him back on the radar of... whatever was after him.

As soon as Yamato pulled him close, however, the pain dulled. It has been over twelve hours, and the pain has yet to resurface. He is thankful for this, having spent the whole week with that terrible headache, but not knowing _why_ Yamato's presence drives the excruciating sensation away troubles him. While he was in Hikari's apartment yesterday, his head felt ready to burst. Is... is it a coincidence? Does this monster—monsters? Is there more than one?—simply not know his location? How did it find him while he was at school? Or when he was at Ken's birthday party? He's been asking himself these questions all day, but he's still unable to come up with any answers.

And Yamato still will not tell him why he was so afraid this morning. Takeru refuses to believe that his brother wasn't frightened—why else would it have taken him almost ten minutes to stop trembling? It was wrong of him not to tell his family where he went after school, yes. Guilt pricks at him just thinking about it. But he knows the difference between being spooked or briefly startled and feeling genuine, paralytic fear.

He releases a soft breath and sits up as quietly as he can, careful not to disturb his brother or digimon partner. It is hypocritical of him to be angry at Yamato for keep secrets from him. After all, Takeru convinced him hours ago that nothing was wrong; and here he is now, wide-awake, his head whirling, unable to find something to keep him and his chaotic thoughts grounded. But that doesn't mean he isn't worried about his brother.

He swallows, suddenly aware of how thirsty he is. A glass of water will do him good.

Without much thought, Takeru slides out from underneath the blanket and gently pushes himself off the bed. His eyes have well adjusted to the dark by now, so making it to door seems like a menial task. The moment his hand makes contact with Yamato's doorknob, however, he hears a sharp, tight intake of breath; and the sound makes him freeze in place.

Takeru turns haltingly, listening intently because he doesn't know if he heard correctly. Yamato is still sprawled out on the bed, but his head is now tucked into the crook of his elbow, body inexplicably stiff.

"Nii-san?" Takeru's voice barely reaches a whisper.

For an answer, Yamato presses his head further into his arm. His legs twitch underneath his blanket and he rolls over, expelling a shuddering, quiet moan. Takeru murmurs his name again. Takes a few experimental steps forward, suddenly conscious of how loud each footfall is against the wooden floor.

His heart constricts when he hears Yamato whimper. Never has he heard such a sound come from his older sibling.

"Onii-san," he repeats once more, leaning down beside the bed. Yamato's limbs twitch again, and he shivers. There's a bead of sweat forming at the tip of his hairline, cascading down his temple like raindrops rolling across the expanse of a window.

Worry blooms in his chest, mixed with a tinge of dread. Is... is Yamato having a nightmare? Should he wake him? Takeru's eyes are puddled with indecision and he swallows again, this time paying little heed to the dryness of his throat. Rests a careful hand on his brother's shoulder.

The response is immediate: Yamato stiffens for a fleeting moment as though he is made of wood, and then the tension building in his muscles begins to fade. His head rolls free, fingers uncurling; and he releases another breath, this one softer, deeper than before. Takeru's hand remains on his shoulder for a few hesitant seconds, before offering a gentle squeeze and releasing him.

_Good. He's relaxed now._

He turns so he is facing the door again, wondering briefly what the dream could have been about. Then his mind takes him back to this morning—were the circles marking his brother's eyes as bad as they are now? Is that why he looked so tired earlier? Takeru knows from experience how deeply nightmares can affect someone. His stomach lurches at the thought of Yamato suffering.

_I'll ask him tomorrow,_ he tells himself as he rests his chin on his folded knees and pressing his back against Yamato's bed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Takeru swears he sees a splash of red and his stomach flutters with anticipation. His whole body is rigid in an instant; his blood feels like it has been replaced with shards of ice. Was... was that...?

A part of him whispers, "Don't look." The other part dares him to do just that.

He tries to listen to the sensible—and possibly childish—side. Going off to investigate seems like the idea an ignorant character would have in a horror movie. The last week is proof that, if the world explodes into a kaleidoscope of color, it won't end well for him. And leaving Yamato's side makes him feel anxious.

Still. Yamato is at peace now. Whatever had been causing him distress earlier has vanished. Patamon is curled up on Takeru's pillow, snoozing contently. It isn't like Takeru is going to sleep anytime soon. Unexplained curiosity slithers through him like a venomous snake: perilous and terrifying and difficult to ignore. It's almost like a challenge Takeru has no choice but to accept.

Explore it is, then.

Takeru pads surreptitiously to Yamato's window, hoping to cross the room without a sound. Each step is slower than before; regardless of his inquisitiveness, Takeru can't deny how uneasy he feels. It's unsettling how quickly his surroundings can change. He knows all of what makes his brother's room and yet the darkness has made every object unidentifiable and dangerous. Every shadow feels like it will jump out at any given moment and assault him.

_Don't look,_ his brain murmurs again in warning.

His hands are clammy as he picks the blinds apart and he leans closer to catch a glimpse of what lies on the other side of the glass. Pain latches onto him like a deadly parasite.

He backpedals without a second thought, teetering on unsteady legs until he hits the edge of Yamato's bed. For reasons unknown to him, he went all evening without that agonizing headache. He still feels a little hazy, sure. But no headaches. No way is he taking a chance now.

_I shouldn't have looked. I shouldn't have looked,_ he repeats frantically in his mind, clamping his fingers over his lips to prevent any sound from escaping.

Washed with a wave of panic, Takeru tosses a glance over to his brother and digimon partner to make sure they are unharmed. Relief filters through him when he sees Yamato and Patamon are still lost in the realm of sleep. The pain in his head is gone but anxiety remains.

_Gaps. Cover the gaps._

Takeru is moving with little reflection over the thought. He sheds his sweatshirt—the one he'd grabbed while at his apartment with Yamato to pack an overnight bag—and treks to the bedroom door. Presses the fabric against the threshold, wedging it in so deeply that the door will be hard to open in the morning. It's probably a ridiculous attempt—there is still a possibility something will ooze through the hinges—but it's too dark and too late for Takeru to conceal them properly. And what will he use, anyway? Tape? He can't even reach that high.

He walks back to Yamato's bed as quietly as he can, but his steps are clumsy and hysterical and he's lucky he doesn't trip. Then he's climbing beside his older brother, curling up underneath the blanket and pulling Patamon close with tremoring fingers. He prays Yamato's window is locked because he is too afraid to go back and check.

"Nnn…Takeru?" his partner whispers sleepily, having been awakened by Takeru's jostling.

Takeru shuts his eyes tightly, trying to block out the sound of his thunderous heartbeat, and doesn't even bother to answer. Presses his face against Patamon's fur. Scoots closer to Yamato—so close they're almost touching—and seeks comfort in his presence. Tells himself that whatever lies outside the safety of Yamato's bedroom walls cannot seep through if he doesn't look.

Fear carries him far into the hours of the morning, without sleep, and he keeps his head tucked low so he cannot see a thing.

The sky is not supposed to be red.


	7. Eyes Wide Open

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really don't like this chapter lol. oh well.

**Ch 06 || Eyes Wide Open**

[1 March 2004; 6:04 a.m.]

Takeru is afraid to go to school.

He has been at Yamato's all weekend, and now that Monday has arrived, all Takeru can think about is what is going to happen once Yamato leaves his side. It's ridiculous, but his headaches have not returned except for that brief moment on Saturday night. He doesn't want Friday to repeat itself.

He lies awake on the left side of Yamato's bed, listening to the sound of his father rustling on the other side of Yamato's bedroom door. The strong aroma of coffee permeates the small flat; his dad is most likely getting ready to head to work. Light spews through the threshold, and Takeru hears the crinkling of a newspaper. Glass clanking together. He must be getting a mug out of the dish tray.

Slowly and quietly, Takeru rolls so he is facing away from the door. He does not have to get up for another hour. He can close his eyes and go back to sleep; enjoy the time he has.

Except his brain will not let him. Insomnia is a horrendous storm existing only inside his head, stealing every opportunity he has to dive into slumber. Sleep did not come Saturday night, and he slept in intervals last night.

Perhaps it is fear. He is afraid of what lurks beyond the walls of Yamato's apartment. He is afraid of the headaches. He is afraid of what haunted Yamato's sleep the other night. He is afraid of the colors which only he can see; colors that bleed out into the world around him, blurring the line between reality and illusion. He is afraid that getting Hikari involved has compromised her safety. He is afraid of what will happen if that shadow touches him...

Takeru shudders and squeezes his eyes shut. He curls into a ball underneath his blanket, burying his head into his pillow. His heart constricts underneath the protection of his ribcage. Patamon is slumbering peacefully by his abdomen.

Footsteps. Takeru stills, tracking them one by one with his ears, and realizes his father is standing outside Yamato's bedroom door. There's a brief pause where all is silent, and then his dad is twisting the doorknob.

Takeru expels a soft breath, trying his best to feign sleep. Yamato's floor creaks. More rustling.

"Hey, Yamato," he says quietly. "Time to get up. You can't sleep in again, ok?"

Takeru peaks an eye open slowly. Yamato groans in obvious resentment, rolling over with a muffled, "Yeah, ok."

"I made some coffee for you," he adds. "Takeru's welcome to it, too."

"Takeru isn't gonna drink coffee; he's twelve," Yamato muttered, and then, after sitting up: "Thanks, Dad."

Their father hums in response and then turns to leave the room. The door clicks shut, and Yamato releases an audible, distasteful sigh. "School should be illegal."

Takeru chokes on a laugh without warning, and his charade his gone. Yamato knows he is awake. At least he can pretend that he just woke up. "Good morning, Nii-san."

"There is nothing good about mornings," Yamato says grumpily. "Watch your eyes, all right? I'm gonna turn on the light."

Takeru obeys, shielding his face to block it out with his blanket. Then light sweeps over them, and Takeru is ashamed to say he is relieved. He would have felt at least a little better if the light at stayed on all night.

(Although he does not dare to admit this information out loud. Twelve-year-olds are not supposed to sleep with the light on.)

The darkness, however, had offered some semblance of secrecy. The moment Yamato catches a glimpse of Takeru's face, he frowns in concern. "Jeez, kiddo. Did you sleep at _all?_ "

"Of course, I did," he says, on pure instinct, even though the exhaustion evident on his face tells Yamato the exact opposite. Takeru sits up, rubbing an eye slowly. "It's just early."

"Uh huh," Yamato says flatly, eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Do you feel ok?"

"I'm fine."

Yamato is already in front of him, feeling his cheeks and his forehead, and only when this action proves that Takeru is not feverish does Yamato believe him. Then he gives Takeru's shoulder a gentle squeeze before reaching for his school uniform. "Maybe you should lie down for a few more minutes. I'm gonna go wash up."

Takeru nods, still sitting on the left side of Yamato's bed. He watches Yamato tiredly leave the room and scoots back until he is leaning against the wall, chewing the inside of his lip.

Patamon crawls sleepily out from the covers and yawns loudly. Pushes himself up, stretching his tiny wings out, before murmuring, "You were tossing and turning all night."

Instantly, Takeru is hit with a heavy wave of guilt. Patamon has always been able to see right through him. Did he keep Patamon up? Did he bother Yamato? His older brother did look more tired than usual, but Takeru wants to blame all of their exhaustion on the early hour.

He says simply, "I couldn't sleep."

"Your headache hasn't returned, has it?" Patamon whispers, eyes big and worried.

Takeru shakes his head silently and then offers a smile for his partner's sake. Reaches down to stroke his fur, thankful that he is here. On any other Monday, Takeru would have told Patamon to save his energy and return to the digital world. Now, Takeru is just grateful for his presence. Later, when he is in school, Patamon is probably going to be bored. Which makes Takeru feel absolutely terrible.

But Patamon does not mind. Tailmon is still staying with Hikari, so at least his partner will have someone to talk to. This lightens Takeru's spirits, if only just a little. He is lucky Yamato—and Taichi, for that matter—has not questioned them yet.

"Did you decide if you're going to tell Yamato or not?"

Patamon's voice is still quiet as though he is afraid Takeru's father or brother will overhear their conversation. It is like he read Takeru's mind. Takeru murmurs, "I don't know."

His partner falls silent, but he nods in understanding. Takeru draws in a deep breath through his nose before deciding that it is time to get dressed. Homeroom does not start until eight-thirty, but he doesn't remember how long of a walk it is from Yamato's apartment to his elementary school. Nor does he know what time his father leaves for work.

Takeru stands slowly, ignoring the small headrush that accompanies this action, and makes his way over to his backpack. He hadn't planned on staying last night, but Yamato had offered. And Takeru was not going to decline an offer from his older brother, whether he wanted to or not. Nonetheless, they'd returned to his apartment to visit his mother and pack a new set of clothes for school.

He tries not to think about it too much. His mother seemed ok with him staying with Yamato again, but there was a sad glint in her eye that she always got when she saw his older brother. Guilt pricks at his insides when he remembers how upset she was when he hadn't returned home from school Friday afternoon.

He's pulling on a long-sleeved tee when there's a knock on the door. His father peeks his head in, asking, "Are you two going to need a ride to school? It's not too chilly, but..."

Takeru pauses, thinking. He doesn't mind walking. It will give him time to think. Offers another smile. "I can walk."

"Are you sure?"

"'Course I'm sure," he says, his grin widening.

Dad chuckles, shaking his head. "You're the exact opposite of your brother, you know that? So chirpy, even when it's so early in the morning."

This elicits a soft laugh from Takeru as well, especially when Patamon flutters to his customary place on Takeru's head. "He says that school should be illegal."

Dad shakes his head in amusement, although he doesn't add anything to that comment. Takeru sits down on Yamato's bed again to pull on a fresh pair of socks, and when his dad leaves the room, his smile falls.

Patamon picks up on this quickly and decides to speak up. "You should eat something."

"Is that your way of saying you are hungry?"

A pause. "Maybe."

Takeru stands again, exiting Yamato's room. His dad is at the kitchen counter now, sipping on a cup of coffee. Takeru hears the water running in the bathroom, signaling that Yamato is taking a shower. Takeru is trying to think of a good topic for early morning conversation when his father clears his throat.

"So," his dad begins. "How have you and your mother been?"

_Yeah, here we go,_ Takeru says inside his head, sighing internally as he sits down at the table in the front room. He reaches up to pet Patamon behind his wings, flashing another small smile. "We're, um...we're fine."

"Good," he says with a slow nod and takes another sip of his coffee.

They lapse into silence seconds later, and Takeru slumps against his chair. He loves his father, but he's never quite sure what he is supposed to say to him. Which makes this suddenly awkward.

(He almost wishes Yamato would hurry up, just to ease the tension in the air.)

"How's, uh, how's school going?"

The water stops before Takeru can answer, something for which he is grateful. It's like his brother heard his silent wish. Takeru excuses himself quietly to retrieve his backpack, but only so he can stall in Yamato's room for a little while. When he returns, he quickly notices that his father has disappeared into his own bedroom.

Takeru sighs again, frowning. Patamon pushes himself into the air, regarding him curiously. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing," he says dismissively with a silent shrug. It's not a big deal, anyway. Dad's never good at small talk. It seems the older he gets, the more he realizes this.

"Hey, Takeru? What's that smell?"

"What?" he asks, raising his brows. "The coffee? It's a drink. Something you brew."

"People drink it?" Patamon is almost amazed. "Can I try it? It smells good!"

Takeru blinks. Maybe it is because Patamon is hungry. The hollowness of his own stomach tells Takeru he should eat something. He turns to face kitchen, curious.

He _is_ tired. Maybe some caffeine will do him some good? How well does it work? His mother rarely drinks coffee so it is never around his apartment; he doesn't know what it tastes like. And while his father drinks coffee for the taste, Yamato drinks it to help him wake up in the morning. He wonders if will work...

"I don't see why not," he concludes eventually. What's the worst that can happen?

Patamon squeals in excitement. Takeru goes about retrieving a mug to put their curiosity to rest, and it isn't long before they're both staring in anticipation at an aromatic, steamy cup of black coffee.

"Can I try it first?"

Takeru chuckles. "All right. Careful, though, it's really hot. Here, I'll blow on it first."

Patamon waits with little patience, and when Takeru deems it ready, he just dives in.

(For like, half a second.)

Then Patamon is recoiling, a disgusted expression overtaking his face. "Takeru, that's gross!"

"Is it really?" Takeru looks down at the offending mug, head tilted to the side quizzically. "But it smells so nice."

"It's so _bitter._ "

Takeru brings the cup to his lips, breathing in deeply. He was right: it certainly smelled pleasant. And Takeru was not one to decline a warm beverage—especially since it had been so cold out recently.

So, still curious, Takeru takes an experimental and careful sip.

And chokes.

On the other side of the room, a door clicks. Yamato is bent over slightly, with a towel over his shoulders, holding his stomach; and he is laughing.

Takeru is too busy coughing to defend himself, and only after he is done does Yamato ask if he's all right. He is still chuckling when he says, "I told Dad you wouldn't like it."

Takeru makes a face, wondering how he is going to get the taste out of his mouth. He pushes the mug away and reaches for a new cup to fill with water. Mutters, "I was just wondering what it tasted like."

Yamato pats his back sympathetically, but it is obvious he is still fighting another smile. "You don't need the caffeine, anyway, Teek. It's not good for you."

"Says the guy who just took my cup," Takeru mumbles, before washing the horrible taste away with a gulp of water.

Yamato laughs again, but rather than take a sip, he makes his way toward the fridge to retrieve a carton of milk. Mixes a generous amount of it in the cup, before bringing the cup to his lips.

"Yamato is gross," Patamon says, his nose twitching in disgust. "For shame. It smells so yummy, too."

"Some people put sugar in it to sweeten it up," Yamato explains. "Knowing you two, you'd probably pour a whole cup's worth of sugar into your coffee."

Takeru blinks, and his curiosity returns within a few seconds. He _does_ like sweet treats.

"That comment wasn't supposed to give you any ideas," Yamato says before Takeru can put a voice his thoughts. "You need a nutritious breakfast."

Patamon perks up at the mention of actual food, which makes Takeru laugh softly. His father re-enters the room then, and Takeru leans against the counter, momentarily forgetting about his exhaustion, his fears, the headaches, his uneasy weekend. Yamato is laughing, and Patamon is happy. His father is suddenly very confused, which is amusing. Maybe today will be a good one.

* * *

[7:58 a.m.]

It is not nearly as cold as it has been all weekend, but Yamato still will not let Takeru leave the house without at least a jacket. Nor will he let Takeru walk to school by himself, even if means Yamato will be late. Takeru does not object (although it is not like he has a choice), and he even sent a message to Miyako and Iori telling them not to wait for him, but he is a little disappointed that he forgot his hat in Yamato's room. He will make a note to come back for it after school. Maybe.

The snow has melted mostly, only present in patches where yesterday's sunlight could not reach; but a chilly breeze still claims the air. Perhaps the sun will come out from hiding and bring its warmth into the day, but Takeru is not sure. Patamon is once again resting on his head, which he has long since grown used to, and Yamato is walking silently by his side, watching the blue sky with mild interest.

"You're quiet," Yamato murmurs suddenly, with his hands in his pockets. They're well into their trek to school.

"Mm." Takeru looks at pavement stretched before them, knowing how much trouble thinking has gotten him into lately. It is why he hasn't slept well. It is one of the reasons why he was so distracted during school on Friday. "I guess I'm not awake yet."

This is truer than Takeru is willing to admit.

"You know, when you were a kid," Yamato begins, "you used to wake up freakishly early."

"Did I?"

"Yeah," Yamato says without looking at him. "You used to wake me up at like, five. Told me you wanted to watch the sun come up."

Takeru blinks, trying to remember. He must have been too young because he can't.

"Mom and Dad were so grumpy sometimes," his brother continues, laughing as though lost in the memory, "that you'd wake us up. But every time Mom saw your face—every time she saw how excited you were—she just melted."

Takeru starts to smile. "I made her happy?"

"Kiddo, you made us _all_ happy," Yamato corrects, and then, quietly: "You still do."

His stomach is aflutter and all he can do is stare, for a moment. Yamato isn't one for conversation. He is one of those people who likes to stay inside his own head. Naturally, hearing him speak so casually and freely—and about their family, no less—stuns Takeru to his very core. He wants to know what brought this on.

And then Takeru is looking at the ground in shame because he cannot help but think of how much he worried his family over the weekend. His mind is instantly rewinding back to Saturday, when his mother called, sounding close to tears. How violently Yamato shook when he and Hikari returned from the digital world. How worried his father seemed when he picked them up later that day.

Maybe he should talk to Yamato. Tell him what he told Hikari. That would be the right thing to do. And perhaps his brother can help. He trusts Yamato, even more so than he does Hikari.

So why is it, then, that he gets this gut-wrenching feeling every time he wants to shed his secrets? Why does his brain tell him letting Yamato in is a terrible idea?

His expression darkens slightly as he thinks about it. Yamato hasn't denied that he was frightened—but he still hasn't told Takeru why he was so terrified that morning. He has treated Takeru as though he is made of glass for the past few days. And he still has yet to speak of the nightmare Takeru witnessed.

Which is fair, Takeru supposes. They're both keeping secrets from each other.

_I should ask him._

Takeru stops walking, mind made up. "Nii-san—"

Noise erupts around him as soon as the name comes out.

Takeru hears a horn. All of a sudden Yamato is screaming in terror; Patamon's familiar weight on his head is gone. Takeru feels a sharp, painful tug on his wrist, and then he is stumbling backward. Skids against the curb. The ground seems to be torn away from the soles of his shoes because the world is going sideways.

"TAKERU!"

His hands scrape against the pavement. Strong arms are pulling him up, up, up; Yamato is on the ground, too, staring at Takeru with horrified, saucer eyes.

For a long, aching moment, everything falls quiet. The only sound Takeru can hear is the thunderous beating of his own heart, raging against his ribcage like an animal trying to break free. His gaze slowly drifts to the threat that lay in front of him: an intersection. A busy intersection, which he'd tried to cross without even looking.

Shock splinters through his whole body, almost leaving him paralyzed. Did... did that mean he just walked out in front of a vehicle? What would have happened if his older brother didn't pull him back in time? He would have been hit, for sure.

Yamato is holding his shoulders in a death grip, pale as a piece of paper. Patamon looks equally terrified.

"Ok, Takeru, give me _one_ good reason why I shouldn't take you back home right now," his brother says urgently.

"I..." He trails off. Can't think of the words. Yamato still hasn't released him—and Takeru can't tell which of them is shaking.

"God, Teek, what were you _thinking?_ You almost got yourself killed! I just—I just—" He is just pulling Takeru closer now, not seeming to care that they are in public. "You could have been _hit._ "

Patamon lands on his lap, tears in his eyes. "You have to be more careful."

"I'm sorry," is all he can think to say, rubbing his now skinned hands. There are specks of blood on them. It is unsettling to see Yamato so shaken up—and once again, the blame falls upon Takeru.

Swallowing hard, Takeru pushes himself up and winces slightly when sharp tingles of pain shoot through his raw hands. Yamato follows him instantly, looking him over as if to check for more injuries. Patamon perches himself upon Takeru's right shoulder.

"I'm taking you home," Yamato decides as he studies his palms. "C'mon, Teek."

"Onii-san—"

"Oi! Takeru!"

Both of them glance up in the direction of the speaker, startled. Still dazed, it takes Takeru a moment to find him. Then Daisuke is running up to him, pink in the face, panting slightly. His backpack is dangling off his shoulder, dangerously close to falling to the ground. "Hey, dude. I wasn't sure if you were gonna come to school today since you were kind of out of it on Friday."

Takeru stiffens, and immediately Yamato is looking at him quizzically. "What happened on Friday?"

Upon seeing Takeru's anxious expression, Daisuke's eyes blow eyes and he hurries to explain, "Oh, heh heh, nothing. We had a test neither of us studied for. Anyway, it's past eight, dude. We should run!"

"Takeru's not going to school today," Yamato clarifies, reaching for his arm to drag him away. "Let's go."

"What?" Daisuke looks at Takeru, baffled. "Why? Are you—oh, whoa, what happened to your hands?"

As tempting as it is to stay at his brother's, Takeru _does_ need to go to school. If he stays with Yamato, Takeru will spend the whole day worrying. He needs a distraction. Something to take his mind off things. And as much as he doesn't like to admit it, Yamato's supervision is starting to suffocate him. And he did promise Hikari that he would update her if anything happened.

"Onii-san, it's ok," Takeru says, moving just out of his older brother's reach. "I'm fine. Really. I can go. We're going to be late."

Yamato is still doubtful. There is something in his gaze that is painfully uneasy—like he knows something that Takeru doesn't.

Daisuke chirps, "I'll walk him there, Yamato!" And falters suddenly when Yamato gazes at him. "Erm, you know. Because we're in the same class and stuff. Not because I think you can't do it."

"Right." Yamato works his jaw, before looking back at Takeru. "You need to clean your hands up."

"I'll go to the school nurse." In a last attempt to convince his brother, Takeru grins as if he what transpired mere minutes ago did not even happen. "Please?"

"…fine," Yamato says, relaxing a little. "Let me know if—"

Except Daisuke doesn't let him finish. Without warning, he takes Takeru by the arm. "Great! Let's go, Takeru!"

Then they're both running, and Takeru tries to squash the terrible feeling he gets when Yamato does not budge. He just stands, watching them leave, with a troubled expression painted across his features.

Seeing Yamato—cool, reserved, forever nonchalant Yamato—so worried makes his stomach twist again with guilt.

_I'm sorry._

Takeru isn't sure how long they're running. They were only about a block and half away from their school. Even so, Daisuke is a bundle of barely-contained energy and he's talking as though he's trying to get every last word in his head out in the same breath. Even Patamon is struggling to keep up.

"…and then she said—oh, hey, wow, we're here! With over ten minutes to spare. A new record, huh?" Daisuke slows to a stop, having long ago released Takeru's arm. He's panting again, and so is Takeru.

"Y-yeah," he gasps out, as his eyes fall upon the school building in front of them. "For you, maybe."

"Hey. Don't act like you're never late," Daisuke says, although his easy smile tells Takeru he knows he's kidding.

With a roll of his eyes, Takeru rests his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. It doesn't take long, but his heart is still pounding from the run when he draws himself up to his full height.

Patamon asks, "Where's Tailmon?"

Blinking, Takeru's gaze sweeps the schoolyard to locate the kitten digimon. Tailmon has always been good at hiding—and he is proven correct when a voice purrs somewhere above him: "I'm up here."

Rustling. Takeru glances skyward, and he smirks when he sees Tailmon poking her head out of a tree. Patamon instantly pushes himself off Takeru's shoulder to join her, calling out to Takeru, "Have a good day! We'll be here."

Takeru smiles and nods, and then they're heading inside the building. While they do have about ten minutes before homeroom starts, if they stall, they'll be late.

"Are we going to the digital world today?" Daisuke asks as they make their way to the shoe cupboard.

"I don't know. Why do you ask?"

"Because Patamon and Tailmon are here! Why else?"

"Oh." Takeru pauses, fumbling for an excuse as to why he and Hikari went to the digital world without the rest of their teammates. "I guess—"

A familiar, haunting pain splinters through his head, so quickly that it catches him by surprise. Instinctively, his hands reach up to cradle his temples. His hands still sting from his collision with the concrete earlier.

Daisuke is immediately bug-eyed. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just…" He hisses, biting the inside of his lip just so he has something else to focus on. Tastes blood and only bites harder.

_. Please… not again._

"Dude, seriously, are you ok?"

"On… on second thought," Takeru says quietly. "I really don't want to be here."

"Why? Takeru, what's going on, man?"

"I…" He'll have to message Hikari later. Puts his school shoes back in the cupboard where they belong. _I need to get out of here._

It takes him several moments to realize that he said that out loud, and by then he's already walking away from Daisuke.

"Hey, Takeru, wait—!"

Down the hallway. Out the school doors. He's crossing the schoolyard again, heart rate slowly increasing as he puts distance between himself and his elementary school.

"That was fast," a voice speaks somewhere close to him—Tailmon. "Hey, Takeru… oh, no. Not good. Patamon, we've got to—"

The snapping of twigs. Pounding footsteps. The wind wisps in Takeru's ears. His headache is already getting worse—it's taking root deep in his brain. Spreads down his neck. He's nauseous but he keeps moving, trying to get away, away, away. Yamato was the only thing keeping this pain at bay, and he'd left him behind.

_This is my fault. I'm sorry, Onii-san. I'm so sorry._

"Takeru!"

Hands are on his back. He doesn't have any time to prepare himself until he's hitting the ground for a second time that morning. This time he lands on grass, still covered in small patches of snow. With a cry of surprise, Takeru tries to escape, but to no avail. Daisuke has him pinned.

"Takeru what is _eating_ you? Why are you always running away?"

Daisuke sounds frantic. Takeru does not dare open his eyes—does not want to face his friend. But then Patamon is hovering over his head, his voice tearful as he exclaims, "Did you see it, Takeru? Did it come back?"

"Did what come back?" Daisuke just seems confused now. "Hey, talk to me. You can't run off like that without providing some sort of explanation!"

Slowly, _slowly_ , Takeru pushes himself to his knees. This is so, so bad. "It's... Daisuke, really, I can't explain it. Not now. I have to—"

"Fine, fine! We'll leave the school. Come on."

He's helping Takeru to his feet, and then they—along with Tailmon and Patamon—are moving again. Fighting back a sob, Takeru wonders what he's even running from. Or _why_ he's running. He just knows it worked on Friday. He is uncertain of when the pain begins to fade, but the farther he goes, the less intense his headache is.

It does not matter. Sooner or later, it will catch up—whatever "it" is. It will find him. It found him the moment he returned to Earth Saturday morning. It found him Saturday night. Lurked outside Yamato's bedroom window like an animal waiting for the right opportunity to pounce on its prey.

_It was just waiting for me to leave Onii-san,_ he thinks as he comes to a halt, lacking the energy to move anymore. _But what does Onii-san have to do with_ any _of this?_

"Are you good now?"

Takeru glances up shakily to meet Daisuke's quizzical gaze, but he does not have an answer. Decides to squeeze his eyes shut, sucking in breath after breath as if the air itself is made of candy that he can't get enough of.

"Nii-san was right," he murmurs tightly, sinking down on a bench. A park. They've made it to a park. "I should have gone home with him."

"Well, it's too late for that," Daisuke says as he plops down next to him. "But we're out here. And I'm giving you two options—tell me what is going on or... or just tell me what is going on, man! Why are we ditching school?"

"I don't know," he says with his head buried in his hands. "I... I panicked."

"Yeah, I noticed that part, Takeru."

He says the words dryly, and for some reason, it makes Takeru laugh—a breathless, froglike noise that climbs out of the back of his throat without his consent. Patamon settles down on his lap and curls up there as if to comfort him. Sometimes that is all Takeru needs: silent company. His hands instinctively flex to stroke Patamon's tiny spine.

Tailmon, on the other hand, is staring at him in suspicion. It's the same type of look Yamato gave him this morning.

"So. What did you see?" she asks quietly as she hops onto the park bench.

"Nothing. I didn't see anything. My head just...hurt again," he answers softly.

"Am I invisible?" Daisuke frowns. "What are you _talking_ about?"

Takeru opens his mouth, but he doesn't know what he's going to say. Takeru doesn't even know what he's talking about. So he just stares blankly in front of him, trying to tame this mess inside his head. What has he gotten himself into?

In his pocket, his d-terminal beeps. Without hesitation, he fishes it out, thankful for a distraction. But the message that he receives only makes him feel worse:

_Takeru, are you all right? Is Daisuke with you? What's going on? Homeroom started ten minutes ago._

_Hikari._

His fingers hover over the screen. Daisuke peeks over his shoulder, probably out of curiosity. But Takeru doesn't type out a reply, and just Daisuke is about to speak, Takeru's blood runs cold.

An ominous, disturbing feeling travels down his spine. Takeru is unsure of the source, but it makes his stomach twist and churn. Every part of him goes unnaturally still; his breath stops somewhere in the back of his throat. There is something touching him. There is something _behind_ him.

_Oh my god, there is something behind me._

Patamon looks up at him, confused. "What is it?"

Takeru does not move. Does not want to move.

"Something's touching my shoulder," he whispers in horror.

As soon as the words come out, the feeling intensifies. A burning sensation crawls from his shoulder blade all the way to his collarbone. Like hot, hot fingers are digging into his skin. Harder. Harder.

"Dude, there's nothing there," Daisuke says.

His eyes are watering and his chest feels tight. "You're wrong."

"No, for real, Takeru, I don't see— _holy crap._ "

A foul, nauseating odor settles between them, and it is like something is breathing down his neck: hot and wet. His whole left shoulder feels as though it is engulfed in flames.

"Takeru, get up! Your skin... your skin is _burning._ "

In a matter of seconds, Takeru's whole world seems to explode.

"Air shot!"

"Neko punch!"

Daisuke hauls him up off the bench as Tailmon and Patamon take the offensive. Wide, petrified blue eyes turn back to look at the space they occupied mere moments ago—and Takeru feels his knees go weak when he realizes it is definitely _not_ empty.

It is just like the creature in the library. Hair. Crystal-like eyes that are open too wide, almost ready to burst. Shoulders. Arms. Legs. Something that oddly resembles a human. Or, more accurately, the _corpse_ of a human. A corpse that looks like it has been pulled from a lake.

Except this one is smaller than before. Smaller than Takeru, even. Its head barely reaches the top of the bench. And yet a rainbow of colors and cloudy darkness stretches skyward still, seeping into naked branches of trees and down into the wet grass.

Patamon continues to hurl heavy puffs of air at the space behind the bench, and it is like rocks hitting a large pane of glass. Tiny pieces of shadow fall to the ground, crumbling as easily as ash from a cigarette. How can something so utterly horrifying be so small and fragile?

It screams and hisses and then it is just running like an injured feral cat, away from Takeru and Daisuke, away from Patamon and Tailmon's attacks. Takeru stands frozen stiff with shock, watching it retreat into the woods surrounding the park. It is the first time that the creature hasn't vanished before Takeru's eyes.

There is a long, long pause. Takeru is too terrified to realize how much public attention they have received.

"Did you see it?" he murmurs in a tremulous voice. "Tell me you saw it, Daisuke."

"Yeah. I saw it," Daisuke whispers back in response.

Somehow, this does not make Takeru feel better.


	8. Chapter 8

**Ch 07 || Heartbeat**

[date: unknown; time: unknown]

Yamato blinked, sleep-glazed eyes sweeping over his surroundings. It took several moments for him to properly focus, and when the world finally stood still, he blinked once more in utter confusion.

Because seconds ago, he was in his classroom, head pillowed in his desk, trying not to give in to the inviting call of slumber. Now, he was lying belly-down on a grassy plain that stretched for hundreds of feet. The sun was setting, clouds decorated with pink and orange hues, hanging low around trees that shuddered under the wind's soft caress. A glance around showed him that his school was nowhere to be seen.

This, understandably, terrified Yamato. Where the hell was he, and how did he get here? It was barely ten in the morning when he was at school, and now it was suddenly getting dark? And it wasn't even Spring yet. It shouldn't be this warm.

"Another weird dream," Yamato muttered under his breath after a few moments, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. Ignored the fact that the ground beneath him felt inexplicably and undeniably _real._ "Perfect. How do I wake up from this one?"

Chewing the inside of his lip, Yamato pushed himself to his knees. Just lying here wasn't going to do much good. His fingers curled into fists, crushing tiny blades of lush green grass and separating them from their roots. It did not matter that he'd only had these dreams for only a few days—he was already annoyed with them. It was infuriating. Confusing. Unsettling.

What was worse was he couldn't figure out how to stop them. How was he supposed to control his own dreams?

With an agitated sigh, Yamato drew himself up to his full height and dusted off his pants. Felt the breeze tickle his skin and shivered.

_At least I'm not in the grocery store,_ a part of his mind mused as he looked around again.

Then again, Yamato was not sure if this place was much better. Sure, it was warm and beautiful, but he was the only one here. At least in his other dream, he had been with his father and younger brother.

His brother.

Yamato's breath became trapped in his throat for several suspended moments. Over and over, he saw Takeru stepping off the curb and into the street, where a rush of vehicles awaited, ready to sweep him into the sky. If Takeru had been hit, he would have been killed, for sure. Takeru was only twelve years old—he was still small. Those cars were moving so fast.

Shaking his head to rid the thoughts from his mind, Yamato decided he should at least have a look around. Dream world or not, he wanted to figure out where exactly he was, and if there was anybody beyond the trees. He couldn't just stand around and wait.

Without a proper destination, Yamato's legs began moving. Even if he didn't know where he was going, there was a small chance that he'd find something—maybe someone?—of interest. Perhaps he would wake up before he made it too far. Or at least, he hoped he would.

Brows crinkled in confusion, Yamato traversed the field that contained too much green for comfort. It was all crisp leaves and hushed tickling breezes and unfurling flower petals, as though they were well into spring. He was unsure why his surroundings made him uneasy. The whole terrain seemed magical and fairylike, which only intensified his desire to investigate it even further. He felt like he was trapped in a video game.

The grass whispered underneath his feet as he walked, humming under his breath, pretending his dread was curiosity. What lay beyond those trees? Something sinister, or just more trees? There was only one way to find out.

The closer he got to the trees, however, the heavier the dread seemed to become. Like a snowball rolling down a hill, growing in size and volume, ready to wreck anything that stood in its path. Thoughtlessly he slowed his pace, casual steps becoming measured, soundless, careful. He peeled back a branch, peering into the forest and listening to the susurrus of the leaves, squinting as he glanced around. Yes, he decided, this place was far too eerie and mysterious and mythical for his liking.

_I don't think I should go any further._

"Nii-chan?"

Yamato stilled. It was a tiny whisper—a low breath of a sound—but Yamato would know Takeru's voice anywhere. Even if he sounded too young.

"Takeru?" He whirled around, eyes blowing wide, ignoring how heavy he felt all of a sudden, wondering where his little brother could be. This field was so huge compared to a kid like him, and Yamato swore that when he woke up there was nobody here. He hadn't imagined hearing his sibling's voice, had he? Fearing the answer, he repeated, "Takeru? Where are you?"

There was no verbal reply. Yamato strained his ears just to be sure. Takeru had called for him. He knew Takeru had called for him.

But where had the whisper come from? It was so quiet, and it sounded unnervingly close to his ear, like Takeru had been right next to him when he spoke. But all that surrounded him were trees. In the silence, he felt like the trees were mocking him, gossiping fervently alongside the breeze. He had no idea which direction to go.

"Takeru?" he tried again, taking a few attentive steps forward.

Once again, he received no response. The fine hairs on the back of his neck prickled. An uncomfortable pull-like sensation started somewhere in his collarbone, crawling all the way to the base of his shoulder blades. Like something was resting on his shoulders.

Except there was nothing there. Yamato chewed the inside of his cheek, torn between venturing further into the woods and turning back to the field. Then again, this was a dream. What did he have to lose? Yamato had a feeling just sitting in the field until he woke up would not do any good.

Pulling a shuddering breath into his lungs, Yamato pursed his lips and forced himself to move forward. His eyes strayed skyward, tracing the cracks in the canopy of leaves where the sunlight shone through. How could such an elegant and beautiful place like this stir up almost every ounce of fear that lay dormant inside him? Every tiny sound, every sigh of wind, made his heart stutter uncomfortably, like he was watching a movie that spent most of its run-time building up suspense for its viewers. If something was going to jump out and scare him, he hoped they would just hurry up and get it over with. He didn't like this dreadful feeling in his chest at all.

_I don't understand why I can't just_ wake up _already,_ he thought with a frown.

And he heard Takeru's voice once more: "Nii-chan?"

Yamato shuddered violently. This time, there was a disturbing echo, like Takeru's voice was being mimicked by somebody after he said the name. His blood seemed to freeze inside of him, and for several painstakingly long moments, Yamato didn't dare breathe. In that instant, he felt like his organs had suddenly shut down. He felt extremely cold, and he did not know why.

"Takeru, please," he begged, terror bleeding into his voice, "tell me where you are."

Yamato waited for him to speak again. Waited. Waited. Takeru was silent.

Yamato kicked off into a run. He wasn't sure why. He had no idea where his brother was. Maybe he just wanted to give his heart a reason to pound. Maybe he wanted to get his blood moving again. Maybe he wanted a reason to feel breathless, a reason to feel heavy. There was no excuse to feel like he'd overexerted himself if all he was doing was standing still.

So he propelled himself forward, pumping one leg in front of the other without direction. The faster he moved, the louder and sharper the wind became, nipping at his face, roaring in his ears.

"Nii-chan!"

"I can't find you," he shouted into the woods as he ran. "You have to tell me where you are!"

An awkward weight settled on his shoulders once again. He felt like he was being pulled backward, and that stopped him cold. Panting, Yamato staggered, trying desperately to regain his balance after halting so abruptly. Why did he feel like something was resting on top of his neck, something that was the equivalent of a pile of bricks?

Fingers twisted into his shirt. Fingers that were not his own.

Yamato's eyes popped wide.

Very slowly, Yamato moved his hand to find out what the hell it was. His breath became a prisoner inside his throat. A hand. A tiny hand, which was connected to a tiny arm. An arm that was connected to a tiny shoulder. There was a person _hanging off of him._

Was that the heavy, painful weight he had felt earlier?

"Nii-chan," Takeru murmured, "don't worry, I'm right here."

Yamato's whole body felt weak. Takeru was so small, but he felt like he weighed just as much as Yamato did. His legs shook with the threat of collapsing, and it did not help that he'd just hurled through himself the woods like he was being chased.

"What're you doing here, Takeru?" he said, heart roaring in his ears.

"I'm here with my friends," his brother answered. "Hibiki... Ichirou..."

Yamato frowned as Takeru continued to list off names. Why did they sound so familiar? Regardless, Takeru was scaring Yamato. A lot. He said, "I... I don't see any of your friends here, Takeru."

"They're at the park," Takeru explained quietly. "I heard your voice, so I came to get you. Will you come to the park with me, Nii-chan?"

Yamato drew in a quivering breath through his nose as a chilling shiver rippled down his spine. His fear skyrocketed when Takeru's grip on him tightened. "Will you, Nii-chan?"

"Sure," he whispered hoarsely, offering a very quick, very stiff nod. Tried to ignore the fact that he had no idea where this 'park' was. "Sure, Teek."

Takeru hummed softly, and Yamato felt the vibration of the sound on his shoulder, where his brother's face was currently nuzzled. Takeru's breath was cold, causing his skin to prickle again.

Yamato did not mind carrying his little brother on his back. But what was unsettling to him was the fact that Takeru _was not_ supposed to be this small. Takeru was twelve years old. He was supposed to be many feet taller. Except _this_ version of Takeru, even judging by the size of his hands and arms, was only a toddler.

Despite his fear, however, Yamato felt compelled to take care of him. He knew that this was not normal somewhere deep inside, but this little kid was still his sibling. Even though he was terrified, he had an obligation as an older brother to look after Takeru.

Just like in his last dream.

"Takeru?"

"Mm?"

"Which way is the park?"

"It's just past the trees," Takeru answered calmly. "We're not that far away."

Yamato swallowed. "Ok."

Silence reigned between the two, with the only sounds being the haunting whispers of wind and rustling of leaves. Yamato forced himself to move forward, purposefully ignoring the fact that his brother seemed three to four times the weight of somebody his size.

As he passed more trees, the sinking feeling in his chest from earlier was crawling back into his skin, latching onto him like an unwanted parasite. The snowball of dread was growing bigger. Bigger. Bigger. The only thing keeping him going was Takeru's tiny fingers curled into his shirt.

"We're almost there," Takeru informed him in a voice that lacked the excitement and innocence of a three-year-old boy. He sounded hollow.

This made Yamato incredibly suspicious. His eyes narrowed. "You sure?"

Takeru hummed again in response, pressing his cheek to Yamato's neck.

"You're cold, Takeru."

"I'm cold always," Takeru replied, using that same robotic-like tone that sent another wave of dread through Yamato. Toddlers were _not_ supposed to sound so empty. At least _Takeru_ wouldn't. Even as a tiny child, Takeru was happy and outgoing. "But don't worry. I'm used to it, Nii-chan. We all are."

Sunlight soon became more prominent. Stronger. Brighter. They were almost out of the woods. Yamato had to cover his eyes with one of his arms to block out the light, not expecting it to be so harsh. Despite knowing the sun should have provided some warmth and scattered the shadows of the trees, Yamato felt another series of chills crawl all across his body. Something was wrong.

Something was deeply, terribly, irrevocably _wrong._

Achingly slowly, Yamato lowered his arm and peeled his eyes open again. With the trees now behind him, Yamato could see everything more clearly, although as soon as he drew in what lay beyond the woods Yamato wished he hadn't uncovered his eyes.

Indeed, there was a park. Playground equipment. Wood chips. Swings. Slides. There was a street about twenty feet away with traffic lights and road signs, but there was no traffic. The roads were entirely bare: an unsettling sight.

The wind suddenly roared, and through the heavy breeze Yamato heard a low, mechanical whisper that echoed repeatedly around him as though he was in a cave: "He's back!"

"Nii-chan," Takeru murmured quietly, without emotion. "Do you remember me, Nii-chan?"

Yamato blinked in surprise. "What do you mean?"

Without warning, Takeru slid off him. Before Yamato could even turn around to see if he was hurt, Takeru was reaching for his hand, fingers closing tightly around Yamato's thumb. Yamato glanced down and automatically wished he hadn't.

It was the first time he'd caught a glimpse of young Takeru's face. Rather than the sky blue eyes he expected, Yamato was greeted with two tiny, gemlike spheres that looked like they had been shoved inside Takeru eye sockets. His face and body was covered in a spiderweblike pattern of shadows, spiraling around his arms, fingers, cheeks, neck—every part of skin that Yamato could see.

The creature that was staring back at him was _not_ Takeru.

It cocked its head to the side curiously and repeated, "Do you remember me, Nii-chan?"

Terror seized Yamato in massive waves. Automatic instinct was to backpedal—and he did just that, pulling loose from the creature's grip and stumbling backward in a quick, jerky manner, head moving back and forth hysterically. "You're... you're not—"

"My friends' families don't remember them, either," the thing went on, walking toward Yamato without breaking eye contact. "It's like we never existed, Nii-chan. We died and nobody cared."

A loud thumping noise echoed all around him as though the sound was being projected through speakers on a stage, taunting and horrifying. It was rapid and rhythmic, almost like a heartbeat, thumping faster, faster, faster.

Because of his desperation to get away from it, Yamato hadn't notice the thick tree root bulging out of the ground. His foot was caught in it and he was sent to the ground with a painful thud. Despite feeling horrified and confused, his eyes and body suddenly became very heavy, like he'd been drugged. His vision swam with inky dark splotches as his head collided with the park's prickly, hard floor. The world was a whirlwind of a dusking sky and tree limbs and quivering shadows and _thumpthumpthump, thumpthumpthump, thumpthumpthump._

There were shadows of all shapes and sizes with crystal eyes, coming from every direction. Crossing the bare streets, crawling off of the swing sets, sludging through wood chips and climbing down trees, coming up through the ground in a zombiesque state. Walking toward Yamato who was pinned to the ground by some unknown force. Color exploded around him.

"You don't remember," echoed around him, flat and machinelike. "You don't remember... you don't remember... you don't remember..."

Faster. Closer. Red.

"You don't remember."

Faster. Closer. Blue.

"You don't remember."

Faster. Closer. Purple.

"Why did you forget me, Nii-chan?"

Yamato's body burned. Badly. He wished desperately to close his eyes but it was like something invisible was keeping them open, eyelids peeled back, pupils dilated. Something flickered, fluttering rapidly like the wings of a butterfly. Yamato willed his vision to clear so he could see what it was.

After an aching eternity, Yamato was able to make out the distorted shapes. A few feet away from the shadow creatures stood a short, trembling, undoubtedly _human_ body, arms outstretched toward Yamato.

A much older, emotion-filled voice called, "ONII-SAN!"

"Ta...Takeru..." He'd tried to shout it, but his voice would not surpass a whisper. "N-no... no...!"

Suddenly the heartbeat around him dulled and slowed drastically, and Takeru's quaking form sank down to the ground, fingers still reaching for him. Slower. Slower.

"This is just a dream," Yamato murmured hysterically, groggily, fighting against whatever had him pinned. "I'm going to wake up soon, and you're going to be just fine, Takeru. You're going to be fine! I'm going to be fine..."

Slower.

"This isn't just a dream," Takeru said to him, voice crackling like a fire, as the inky shadows around the children slowly inched toward him like worms. His expression bled sorrow and panic. "You're in the past, Onii-san."

Slower.

For a split second, his eyes changed. Gone was the blue, and instead Yamato was looking at two mirror-like orbs that were identical to that of the other children's. When they returned to normal Yamato saw streams of tears.

Slower.

"Please don't let them take me again," Takeru pleaded brokenly, and even though he was back to his normal age and size, he sounded as young and vulnerable as the toddler Yamato had walked with in the woods. His fingers brushed against Yamato's shoulder, and for a brief seconds, Yamato swore he saw some sort of burn mark snaking up Takeru's neck. "I'm scared, Nii-san. Don't let them take me—"

Gone.

* * *

[1 March 2004; 10:43 a.m.]

Someone is still touching his shoulder when Yamato opens his eyes. A burning sensation crawls over his skin and in an instant, Yamato yanks away violently from the offending fingers, head snapping up to look at the person with shaky, dinner-plate eyes.

Taichi looks equally shocked, hands immediately rising to show that he means no harm. "Hey, Yamato, dude, it's ok. It's just me."

"Are you all right?" Sora asks immediately, concern stitched into her voice.

Yamato takes only a few moments to quiet his racing heart and studies his surroundings. He's in a classroom. A mostly empty classroom, save him, his friends, a stray student or two, and Hattori-sensei. They all look as worried and confused as Sora sounds.

"Fine," he says in a hushed voice. One glance at the clock tells him that he has slept through his entire second class and now the students have left on their ten-minute break placed in the schedule to act as prep-time for the following class. Without hesitation he stands, offers a quick bow, and mutters, "I'm sorry, Hattori-sensei. I have to go."

His teacher looks incredibly surprised, but before he can even say a word, Yamato is grabbing his bag and bolting out of the classroom. Students are everywhere, and Yamato automatically searches for a place that isn't crowded by his peers. Outside. He needs to get his shoes and go outside.

Footsteps echo behind him—an indication that he's being followed. Sora shouts, "Hey, Yamato—"

"Not _now._ " His voice is much harsher than he intends it to be.

"Can you at least tell us why you're leaving?" Taichi asks, soon falling in step with him. Sora follows shortly after, and it reminds Yamato that they're both very athletic teenagers, so running away from them isn't going to do much good. They'll catch up.

Still...

"Takeru's in trouble," he says firmly, grip tightening on his bag. His shoulder still burns and he has no idea why. He doesn't really care that much; he knows slowing his pace isn't an option.

"Wha—?" Taichi sounds baffled. "What do you mean? How do you know?"

"I just _do,_ ok?" Yamato snaps. "I have to find him. Fast."

"Yamato, hun," Sora starts, " _slow down,_ all right? We need to have a talk."

"I don't—"

Taichi cuts in, "Well, could you at least explain to us why you seemed _dead to the world_ for the entire class? When everybody left and you didn't wake up, we were ready to call an ambulance!"

That makes Yamato's steps falter. He pauses briefly to look at Taichi with his eyebrows raised. "What?"

"Sensei noticed you dozing toward the end of class," Sora begins to explain. "He tried shaking you awake, but then gave up when you didn't respond. He seemed annoyed at first, and just continued explaining the assignment. But then class ended and... you still wouldn't wake up. Not even when Taichi shouted at you." Her eyes meet his, and he sees the fear glistening in them. "We were worried."

Yamato blinks. He imagines Hattori-sensei's hand on his back, but it just catapults him back into his dream, when _Takeru_ was resting on his back. The image makes him shudder, something which both of his friends notice immediately.

"Are you sick?" she whispers, one hand extending to touch him.

Pain explodes in his shoulder when her fingers make contact, and his whole body jerks, fingers loosening around his bag. It falls to the tiled floor, and it's then that he realizes that it's not even zipped. His belongings tumble out in a blizzard of writing utensils and loose pages, and he hisses sharply. Sora pulls away, bug-eyed, and Taichi swoops down to collect Yamato's things, if only so they can get away from the crowd faster. Yamato doesn't care. Barely notices the circle of students at the end of the hall watching and whispering in curiosity.

Taichi and Sora, however, do notice. Sora reaches for Yamato's bag and helps Taichi shove everything back into it, lacking the time to care about proper organization, and when they come back up to eye-level Taichi says in a stern voice, "Ok, Yamato. You win. We're leaving. But you've got to explain what's happening between you and Takeru."

He grabs Yamato's arm and pulls roughly, and Sora clutches his bag to her chest as they start moving. They barely remember to switch out their shoes. Yamato doesn't care that they'll miss class, and judging by the expressions of his friends, he realizes that it's the least of their worries, too.

"I can't explain it, ok?" Yamato finally says as they exit the school. "There's... I just have a feeling that's something's wrong. Very wrong. And you didn't... you didn't see him this morning—"

"I saw how scared you were when Takeru and Hikari came back from the digital world on Saturday. It was like you thought he was dead or something!"

"He's gonna be dead if I don't _find him_ , damn it!"

Both Sora and Taichi stop walking, drawing in collective gasps of horror. Yamato is breathing harshly, hands curled into fists, eyes remaining cold and fierce. In the back of his mind, Takeru's fading heartbeat still echoes, growing quieter and quieter and quieter until it disappears entirely. The sound is terribly haunting, almost like the sound of the shadows repeating the same thing over and over...

In a lower, calmer voice, he says, "Something bad is about to happen. I just know it. I know Takeru's involved."

"O...ok," Taichi says, nodding solemnly. "We'll help you find him."

Sora, however, is still in shock. Her expression is laced with fear and confusion as her gaze drifts from Yamato's face to his neck. "Wait. Yamato...what's that...on your neck?"

As she says the words, the burning sensation returns. Spreads down his arm and up his neck in fiery tingles.

Briefly, Yamato is stunned. One hand comes up to touch it gingerly. It stings, which makes his eyes pop. "That's... that's where..."

_That's where that thing was hanging on me..._

"Yamato?" Sora says anxiously, eyebrows still furrowed with concern.

Yamato hears her and looks at her, but she seems so far away despite the fact that she's standing right in front of him. He murmurs distantly, "Takeru had...the same mark..."

"What do you mean?" Taichi is waving a hand in front of his face. "Hey, Yamato! Snap out of it, will you?!"

"In my dream," he says quietly, almost to himself. And then, louder: "Oi, Taichi."

"What?" He sounds a little exasperated now.

"Have you ever had dreams that...seem like they've happened before, in your life? Like...dreams that are real memories?"

This time, Taichi just seems confused. "Ok, dude, you've completely lost me now."

Yamato's gaze weaves over to Sora as if to ask her, but her expression remains the same. With a sigh, Yamato works his jaw. Whatever. He can figure this out _after_ he finds Takeru. "Forget it. Let's just go."

He turns sharply, ignoring the hot, tingling sensation creeping across the upper part of his torso, and flings himself down the steps of that lead to the front entrance of his school. Tries to ignore the lingering sense of dread in his chest, an unpleasant echo of the terrible feeling in his dream. Takeru should be in school, right? Right. It's barely eleven in the morning. He'll just stop by his brother's school and pick him up, and they'll talk. There's no need to panic. Not yet.

However, as soon as he makes it across the schoolyard, Sora frantically reaches for his hand. "Yamato, wait. You're going to want to read this—"

"What is it?" He doesn't mean to snap, but the words come out harsh and quick once again.

For an answer, Sora thrusts his d-terminal into one of his hands. She must have pulled it out from his bag, which is still dangling in her hands. He'd already forgotten that she was holding it for him. He takes the bag from her grasp, and glances down at the device. The screen is lit up with a message that reads:

_S.O.S. in the digital world._

_Daisuke_

Yamato's eyes widen again. The message includes the names of all of the Chosen. Except Takeru's.

Another beep sounds through the air, signaling that another message has been sent. This one is from Takeru, sent to only Yamato. Relief filters through him until he actually reads the words.

_I'm with Daisuke. I need your help, Onii-san. Please._


	9. Illusory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these kiddos sure do run a lot XD

**Ch 08 || Illusory**

[1 March 2004; 10:01 a.m.]

They're at Takeru's apartment now, and Takeru is sitting at the counter, one leg bouncing anxiously, feeling incredibly small and feeble, while Daisuke stands in front of him with his arms crossed.

"You can't be serious," Daisuke says, eyes wide and glistening with a strange mixture of horror and disbelief. It is an expression that looks foreign on his face. Daisuke is free-spirited, upbeat, energetic. Bad vibes usually roll off him like rivulets of water. He always bounces back. Nothing sticks.

Except today, he's collecting it all like dust, whole body seeming heavy under its weight, eyes looking like they belong to someone much older, much wiser.

"You _are_ serious," Daisuke persists when he does not speak. "This has been happening for _weeks?_ And you didn't tell us?"

"...I told Hikari," Takeru whispers quietly. He feels dumb. Like he did something wrong. Like he should not have said anything at all. But it's too late—he's already spilled it out to Daisuke; he can't take it back. He can't make Daisuke forget any of it.

Part of him is relieved. Daisuke really saw what Takeru saw. This proves he isn't crazy. It's true—he did tell Hikari of his experiences on Friday afternoon. Hikari knew about these things because of what Takeru had said, but Daisuke knew _firsthand._

But the other part feels guilty and upset. The only reason Daisuke is with him now was because he did not want to leave Takeru by himself when he was running earlier. Daisuke is a good friend—he does not leave friends alone if he knows something is up. But now Daisuke's mixed up in Takeru's problems. They are in far too deep. What would have happened if the creature had touched Daisuke, and not Takeru? He would have been hurt, for sure.

Daisuke leans against the kitchen table with a weary sigh. "Look, dude, I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you. I just—you saw that thing! It wanted to hurt you. I don't want to see you get hurt."

Takeru hums in response, offering a hollow smile at the irony, but keeps his gaze lowered. "...that's why."

"What's why?"

"Why I didn't tell you, or anyone else," Takeru explains, voice still quiet. "I didn't know if it was dangerous, and I didn't want anyone to get hurt."

Daisuke frowns. "You're _such_ a hypocrite."

Takeru blinks. "Me?"

"You don't want anything to happen to your friends, but _your_ life is totally disposable," he continues, throwing his arms up in exasperation. "What if I hadn't been there? What if Patamon and Tailmon hadn't been there? Who knows what would've happened to you!"

Takeru winces slightly. Daisuke is starting to sound like Onii-san. "That's... that's not what I meant," he says meekly, looking once again at the floor as though it can read his mind and open up to swallow him, just so he doesn't have to face any more confrontation. "I just... didn't know what it was, and I didn't want to pull everyone into it if wasn't a big deal."

"It's a big deal if it scares you enough to run out of the school," Tailmon says, speaking for the first time since they arrived at Takeru's apartment.

Patamon, sitting beside him on the countertop, produces a sound of agreement and concern. "She's right, Takeru. You can't say it doesn't scare you."

Again Takeru looks down, fingers absentmindedly rubbing the back of his hands just to give them something to do. A slight sting makes him stop, and Takeru is reminded that barely two hours before now, he had skidded against pavement and tore up his hands. There is a familiar, dull thrum in his head, and his shoulder feels as though he has an awful sunburn. He purposely avoids glancing at it. Doesn't want to see the damage.

Seeing Takeru's anxious, tight expression, Patamon crawls forward and places a tiny paw on Takeru's arm, trying to console him. Tailmon, too, is attempting to meet his gaze, but she is unsuccessful. Takeru refuses to look at either of them.

Because this has escalated so much, and in such a little amount of time. And while he is relieved that Daisuke had seen the creatures haunting him, it also leaves him incredibly puzzled. Just _why_ was he able to see them? Patamon was with him in Ken's room during his birthday party, and he hadn't seen a thing. He wasn't alone in the library at school, either. What makes today so special?

Is it because this is the first time that thing had made physical contact with him? Because it hurt him? Maybe it let its guard down, and that's how Daisuke was able to see it. Or perhaps it takes a lot of energy for the monster to conceal itself, and it used a lot of energy to touch him?

_I'm not doing anything but confusing myself now_ , he thinks, chewing the inside of his lip. _I have no idea what these things are and how they work. I wish I had a brain like Koushiro's._

"What do you want to do now, Takeru?" Tailmon's voice is cautious and quiet, but it pulls him from his thoughts nonetheless.

Takeru pauses thoughtfully. His gaze instinctively finds his mother's computer desk, and he remembers that all his pain vanished when he and Hikari went to the digital world. Spending the rest of the day without this nauseating headache is not unappealing to him.

Daisuke follows his gaze, every hint of frustration having left his face in favor of confusion. He gives a voice to the question both of the digimon are wondering: "What're you thinking?"

"Maybe..." He trails off, hesitant. "...do you feel like going to the digital world?"

Daisuke looks bewildered again, for a few brief moments. But recognition clicks in Tailmon's eyes. "You think that will make those monsters go away?"

"It did before," Takeru answers with a half shrug, biting back a wince when the action causes pain to shoot through the expanse of his shoulder and neck.

Tailmon's eyes narrow suspiciously once more, not failing to notice his grimace. "We should look at that shoulder of yours."

"Maybe we should bring some bandages or something," Patamon suggests, big worried eyes not leaving Takeru's face.

Takeru pauses again, considering. Perhaps bringing medical supplies is a smart idea. But he isn't sure what he has on hand, and part of him thinks that the pain will go away eventually. It probably isn't bad enough to warrant first-aid. His headache vanished completely the moment he were transported to the digital world with—

"Hikari," he breathes out, eyes widening slowly. Of course. He still hadn't answered her message from earlier. What if she's worried? Guilt sits heavy on his shoulders, and he feels like he is sinking. He hurries to fish his d-terminal out of his pocket. "We left Hikari in class."

Daisuke raises a critical brow. "I thought you said you told her what was going on."

"I told her what happened on _Friday_ ," he corrects, pulling up a new draft to type out a message. "I didn't—she doesn't know what happened just—"

"Oh. Crap." Daisuke's eyes have blown wide now, mirroring Takeru's almost exactly. "So she's..."

"She's still at school waiting for me to reply."

"Hey, don't feel too bad," Daisuke assures, his expression now going soft. "It happened so fast. We weren't exactly thinking of we were going to tell after we saw that... _monster._ "

"But I made a promise," Takeru persists, looking back up at him, fingers hovering motionless over the keyboard of his d-terminal. "I told her I'd tell her if something happened again..."

Memories of their most recent encounter with those shadow monsters surface in Takeru's mind. In successive flashes, he sees the explosion of color, the creatures walking toward him sluggishly, the white-hot hand on his shoulder. And before that, when it was sitting outside Yamato's bedroom window, lurking like an animal stalking its prey. A shiver crawls up his spine as he recalls the blood-red tint of the sky that night...

He still hasn't told Hikari about this weekend.

_I broke my promise._

"Hey," Daisuke says suddenly, lifting him from his reverie. His eyes are uncharacteristically stern. "Have you... did you see it again, between Friday and now?"

It's like he read his mind. Takeru swallows with difficulty, tensing ever so slightly. Tailmon and Patamon are looking at him with patient curiosity, awaiting his response.

Well. It's not like he can lie. Takeru's hand comes up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Yes and no."

Patamon expels a sound similar to a whimper, and there's no mistaking the hurt glistening in his eyes. "I was there with you. Why didn't you tell me you saw something?"

"It didn't... it didn't come to me, exactly," Takeru hurries to explain, trying to erase the pain reflecting in his partner's gaze. "It was just outside, waiting. Watching. For some reason, it couldn't come near me when Onii-san was with me. And... and my headache wasn't there. I thought... I didn't tell you because I thought that we were safe."

It's a pitiful excuse. Now, with Yamato far away from him, probably sitting in class at this very moment, Takeru's headaches have returned and so have the monsters. The worried expression on his brother's face is permanently etched into his memory. Another wave of fresh guilt sweeps over him, causing his stomach to twist uncomfortably.

When was the last time Takeru truly felt completely safe?

_I'm sorry I left you, Onii-san._

"It stalked you?" Daisuke wonders aloud, looking stunned. "What does it want with you, anyway?"

"I have no idea," Takeru confesses, body deflating in defeat. The d-terminal sits limp in his hands. "That's what I've been trying to figure out. It started out of nowhere."

There's a pause, stretched out too long. Long enough for Takeru to space out, focusing only on his throbbing head, on his erratic heartbeat. His words are undeniably and hauntingly true. They've been tormenting him for a while now, and Takeru has not even solved one piece of this horrifying puzzle. What if he is running out of time?

Suddenly Tailmon is leaping to the floor, startling him out of his thoughts. "Well. Just sitting here isn't doing much good. I am going to find Hikari, and I'll meet you guys in the digital world. I'll fill her in. Go on."

Takeru simply stares for a second, as does Daisuke. But her tone leaves no room for an argument, and in moments Daisuke is making his way toward Takeru's apartment door to let her out. When he returns, he says, "Well, you heard her. We should get going."

Patamon pushes himself into the air, nodding grimly. "Let's go, Takeru."

Takeru looks down at his d-terminal, almost reluctant. Even if Tailmon catches Hikari up to speed, it doesn't change the fact that he broke his promise. Maybe he should send her a quick message...?

"Hey," Daisuke says, a hand coming down to rest on his shoulder—his unscathed one—and he flashes him a familiar, cheeky grin. "We'll send messages after we're through the portal. Sound good?"

Patamon looks at him encouragingly, which gives Takeru the strength he so desperately needs. "Sounds good."

* * *

[10:26 a.m.]

Takeru's cheek brushes against the shimmering grass blades, lying on his stomach, breathing in the many perfumes of the digital world. Just like it had been on Friday afternoon, it's warm—a stark contrast to the awful wintry chills claiming the city of Odaiba. It's lush and beautiful, and he thinks to himself that this is the only place where true safety exists as of late.

Which is ironic, really. Because there are millions of monsters, malevolent and not, that call this world their home. He'd spent countless nights as a seven-year-old wondering how him and his friends were going to survive each day due to the many threats they faced. Being the naïve child he was, the word danger did not mean much... until they had all been separated that first time. He did not think he would really be in trouble until he and Patamon were isolated from their group of friends.

Face buried in the grass, Takeru sighs inwardly. No. He doesn't need such negative memories tugging at his mind. For the first time in days, Takeru can relax. His eyes drift shut, and he just lies there, inhaling and exhaling deeply, basking in the wave of peace that washes over him.

He doesn't want the moment to end.

"Takeru... we need to let the others know that we're here."

And the moment has ended.

Takeru peels blue eyes open again, turning to face Daisuke after the words are spoken. Barely five minutes ago, he had agreed to do this, but now he is dreading it. For no reason, he should add, because he knows that his friends will only want to help. He just has a feeling that dragging more people into this mess isn't a good idea, and he isn't sure why.

"I suppose, yeah," he murmurs despite his conflicting thoughts. The only two people he really wants to talk to about this predicament are his brother and Hikari. Roping in people who are only vaguely involved feels wrong.

"Good. 'Cause I just sent an e-mail out to everyone," Daisuke says.

This makes Takeru jolt upward, looking back at his friend with a stunned expression. "What?"

"What do you mean, 'What?' You said that's what we do!"

"I know, it's just..." He trails off, feeling uneasy. "How am I explain something to the others when I don't really know what's going on myself?"

Daisuke falls quiet here, seeming pensive. Once again, it's an expression that Daisuke does not wear often, so seeing such a look cross his features is odd. Seeing Daisuke so solemn only adds to his anxiety.

Fingers curling into the grass, Takeru swallows the lump in his throat and asks, "What did you say?"

"I said there was an S.O.S.," he says simply.

Takeru's stomach knots. "What if that makes them worry?"

"They _should_ be worried," Daisuke counters. "Did you forget that nasty look that thing gave you when it attacked us? It wanted blood, Takeru. Are we seriously going to have this conversation again?"

"He's not wrong," Patamon quips softly. "We need all of their help. You can't do this alone. Did you already forget about your shoulder?"

Takeru blinks all of a sudden. How could he have forgotten about such a wound? Barely a minute ago, he was lying face-down, on said shoulder, and... he didn't even notice that it hurt. Just like his headache had faded the moment they slipped into the digital world.

For good measure, Takeru's hand comes up to poke gingerly and experimentally at the area where he'd been burned earlier this morning by the monster pursuing him. He is stunned to find it there is no pain.

A peak under his semi-scorched shirt shows that the wound is very much still there, and it does not look good. It's blistering and swollen, the shape oddly reminiscent of a hand print. Perhaps bringing first-aid supplies would have been a good idea, after all.

Except... despite how ugly it appears, at least it doesn't hurt. And if it doesn't really hurt, well, why should he need first aid?

"What are you, a masochist? You're so calm about this that it's starting to scare me," Daisuke says, disrupting his thoughts. "Just looking at it makes me wince."

"I didn't know you were so queasy," Takeru replies truthfully, almost as an afterthought. Now that he's really studying him, he notices that Daisuke has gone a little pale.

"Dude. I'm serious. Doesn't it... doesn't it hurt?"

Even Patamon is regarding him with concern, and Takeru's expression becomes contemplative. He can hear his older brother in his head, scolding him for ignoring such a wound. Frankly, Takeru is more confused than anything.

Instinctively, Takeru fishes his d-terminal out of his pocket, having forgotten all about it once again. Right. He needs to message Onii-san.

"Am I supposed to take that as a no?" Daisuke asks. "And you said your headache's gone, too, right?" He throws his hands up. "Man, can this _get_ any weirder?"

His words go right over Takeru's head as he finishes typing out his brother, feeling the need to do so only because he knows that if Yamato sees the emergency message Daisuke had so readily sent out to everyone, knowing that this morning, Takeru had run off with him to go to school... He shudders at the thought. Yamato is probably worried.

He hits the send button. Not even a minute later, he receives a reply:

_Where are you? -Yamato._

Takeru looks around. That's a good question. After a few moments, he realizes that his surroundings are familiar. Up ahead is a giant mountain— _Infinity Mountain,_ his brain tells him instantly—and trees are scattered everywhere. If he listens closely, he can hear the quiet susurrus of a river or stream, most likely hidden behind all of said trees. Squinting, Takeru can see vague blocks of colors off in the distance.

_We're near the Village of Beginnings_ , he types. _By the waterfall._

Ten seconds pass. Fifteen. Twenty. The device cradled in his palms buzzes and beeps, signaling a new message: _Ok. Stay there. I'm on my way._

Takeru chews the inside of his lip. He hates making his brother worry. And not to mention, they all should be in school right now. How many of them will actually be able to read Daisuke's message? What if some of them can't get away from their classes? Reminded once again that his brother isn't the only one who is probably on edge with concern, Takeru pulls up the message Hikari had sent him over two hours ago.

_Sorry for the late reply. I'm fine now._ His fingers hover anxiously over the send button, but then he remembers the digimon they'd left behind. Adds, _Did Tailmon find you? Can you get out of school? Tell her we're near the Village of Beginnings._

For a good minute or so, there is no response. Takeru sighs, tucking the device back in his pocket before finally looking up to meet Daisuke's confused stare. "What now?"

"You're asking me? What do you think we should do?"

"Nii-san says to wait here."

"A lot of fun that'll be, huh? Playing the waiting game," Daisuke mutters, kicking a nearby pebble seemingly out of boredom.

Upon hearing this, Takeru finds himself back in the familiar territory of guilt. If it weren't for him, Daisuke would be in class now, with his least worry being if he finished his homework or not. Instead, he's sitting with Patamon and Takeru, not knowing what their next move will be.

"I'm sorry."

"What? No, man, don't be sorry." The unsettling edge in his friend's eyes disappears, and Takeru doesn't know if it's only to make him feel better. "You got me outta class. I didn't want to go anyway."

Takeru chuckles dryly. "We are going to be in so much trouble when we get back, aren't we?"

"Eh. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Real or fake, Daisuke's nonchalance brightens Takeru's mood a little. In spite of what happened hours ago, he's thankful Daisuke still has a sense of humor. He's always been an optimist, much like Takeru.

Honestly, when it comes to optimism, Daisuke is the better choice. Takeru always tries to find the better side to each situation, the light at the end of the tunnel. But lately, he can't find a drop of sunshine. With each passing minute, dread digs its way into his heart, deeper, deeper, deeper, leeching the hope from his very core. Everything just feels wrong, wrong, _wrong._

"Oi, Takeru."

"Hmm?"

"Do you think..." A sudden, sheepish flush crawls onto Daisuke's face, and he threads his fingers together nervously. "...maybe we should find something to eat? I um, I kind of skipped breakfast, and now I'm starving."

This makes Takeru laugh again. If it hadn't been for the fact that he'd stayed at his older brother's apartment and Yamato would never let him leave without getting something to eat, Takeru probably would have skipped breakfast, too. The weekend has had him trapped inside his head. He remembers Friday, being so occupied by his thoughts that he didn't even think about food until it was too late.

"Sure," Takeru says when he realizes Daisuke is still waiting for a response. Feels Patamon press his whole little body against his own. "There's a river around here. Don't you hear it? We could catch some fish or something."

Daisuke's eyes light up. "Great! Let's get moving."

Takeru draws himself up to his full height, and they sift through the barrier of trees quite easily. The sound of flowing water gets louder as they near the river, and it comes to Takeru's attention that, yeah, there is definitely fish here, but they don't have the proper equipment to catch them.

"Uh, Daisuke?"

"Yeah?"

"How are we going to catch the fish?"

A pause. Daisuke scratches his cheek nervously. "Eh heh heh, um, would it be dumb to use our hands?"

Takeru is thoughtful. During his first adventure of the digital world, when Gabumon first experienced digivolution, it was the older kids who had caught the fish. Takeru can't quite remember what they did—except that a lot of the digimon had helped out. Yamato hadn't let him try to fish on his own. And when he was all by himself, Patamon had collected berries and such for him. And it isn't like he and Daisuke came prepared, now. He's a little embarrassed that he spent months on end as a child in the digital world and can't remember such a basic survival instinct.

"Well," Takeru says after a moment, brows knitted together as he pondered over their situation. "We could—"

A shadow. Takeru stops and whirls around, eyes popping wide as he realizes nothing is there. Did... did he just imagine that? No way. No, no, no, no. Maybe his mind is playing tricks on him. He is tired and stressed. That's gotta be it.

"Takeru? What're you looking at?" Patamon asks, fluttering in front of him now.

Takeru tilts his head, craning his neck to see around the line of trees. He swallows hard. Mutters thickly, "...nothing, I guess."

"You guess?" Daisuke echoes. "That doesn't sound good."

Wordlessly, Takeru nears the edge of the river. It's deeper than he remembers, and the current is much stronger. Faster. It looks dangerous. "On second thought," he says, turning back to face his friend, "we should look for some fruit. There might be some on the other side of the river."

Daisuke nods slowly, although his brows are raised critically. "You ok?"

Takeru offers his best smile. "Yeah. C'mon, let's go. If we're careful, we can cross using the rocks."

"If you say so," Daisuke murmurs, but the suspicion in his gaze remains as he comes to a halt by Takeru's side. He looks uneasy as he eyes the raging current. Takeru doesn't blame him—it's a terrifying obstacle. "Uh, you know, actually, I dunno if I'm hungry enough to cross this."

"Simple," Patamon says, a tinge of pride in his voice. "I'll digivolve and carry you both across. Nobody will have to touch the water! How does that sound?"

A pout claims Daisuke's face upon hearing the little guy's offer. He takes a few steps away from the edge, seeking the safety in the trees, and Takeru mimics his actions out of instinct. "I wish V-mon was here..."

Takeru's smile falters. He feels slightly guilty—Patamon is here, with them, and they hadn't really stopped to wonder about where Daisuke's partner would be. And if...

Takeru's thoughts trail off once again. His eyes stray back to the trees, catching a glimpse of something dark. But once again, there is nothing there. A familiar foreboding feeling resurfaces in his chest, and his brows shoot up in concern. He can't have imagined it that time.

"—keru?"

His response is delayed, which evokes even more suspicion in both of his companions. "Hmm?"

"You said it wouldn't follow you here," Patamon tells him, blue eyes searching his face as if he hopes to find something hidden underneath Takeru's semi-neutral expression.

"It can't," he confirms.

"Then why are you so on edge all of a sudden?" Daisuke asks, arms now crossed. His stance puts a damper in Takeru's resolve—he was staring at him like that he'd confessed to him all of what had happened to him in the past few weeks.

"I th-thought..." Takeru pauses, uneasy and doubtful. "I thought I saw it."

He needs to get away from these trees. There are too many places to hide, too many shadows already cast by branches and leaves that it's messing with his head. He faces away from his partner and Daisuke, collecting himself, internally pushing out his worries. He's safe here. He's _got_ to be safe here. Then he turns back, meeting Daisuke's eyes.

Daisuke is talking to him again, his expression panicked. But Takeru cannot hear his voice.

He hears instead:

"Young child... do not fear us. We will keep you safe."

He stills, saucer-eyed, immobilized by terror. Something brushes against his shoulder—his freshly injured one—and Takeru is suddenly thrust into an unthinking, unfeeling abyss.

Where is the ground beneath him?

Where... where is he? What is he doing here?

"S-safe...?" he echoes faintly, blinking once. Twice. With each blink, the color in his eyes dulls like the faded dyes on an article of clothing. The anxiety coursing through him shifts, evanescent, and in its place is an eerie, calm curiosity. This isn't the scratchy, flat, disturbingly childlike voice from before. It is... it is quiet and loving, but somehow otherworldly, ghosting against the shell of his ear in a way no human could ever attempt to replicate.

"Yes." The word is stretched out like a piece of rubber. "With us, you will be safe. With us, you will be protected. Come."

Isn't he already safe and protected, here in this world, with his friend and partner? Is the security he finds in their company illusory? _No._ No. No...

_Maybe?_

Takeru doesn't remember moving. He doesn't feel like he's moving—just standing still, staring, listening. Somewhere, he can hear another voice, urgent and concerned, asking him what he is doing, asking where he is going.

But he can't focus enough to tell if it's Patamon or Daisuke or, perhaps, both of them. A hazy, thick fog has settled deep in Takeru's brain, blocking his sense of rationality. Like some sort of barrier. All he knows is that voice, soft and gentle, pulling him toward it.

"We will keep you safe," it repeats in that same enticing, motherly tone.

Safe. The word repeats endlessly in his mind, becoming his whole world, almost like a lullaby that promises a restful, dreamless sleep. Takeru's legs move—is he really walking all on his own?—forward in a robotic trance, eyes half-lidded, vaguely noticing the red tint that has consumed all of his surroundings.

_The sky... is red... again..._

_Shouldn't I... be scared...?_

The river is raging violently, ferocious and unforgiving, only a couple feet away, ready to pull him under and steal his final breath.

But Takeru doesn't see it at all. He feels soft and warm, perhaps even drugged. He is helpless under the strings of an invisible puppeteer, guiding him closer and closer to the river's edge.

Underneath the powerful current, pearlesque eyes meet Takeru's, beckoning him like a mother pulling her child into a tender embrace.

"Safe," it says, arms outstretched invitingly. "Do you wish to be safe?"

Takeru's hand extends to touch it.

And then he is sinking, whole body submerging deep into the water, stripped of the caring warmth, of every ounce of that promised security, like he'd missed that last step on a staircase and was plummeting downward with nothing to break his fall.

Everything is immediately disorienting. The coldness of the water is a painful shock and it pulls Takeru out of his trance in an instant. His eyes snap open in fear and his mouth opens out of instinct, trying to find air, causing him to choke as he realizes he's _actually underwater and there's no way out—_

A shadow looms all around him, filling every part of his vision, accompanied by waves upon waves of red, almost like blood. Takeru twists sluggishly in the crimson and black water, trying to pull away, mind whirling in a foggy panic. He doesn't know which way is up, down, left, or right. And the current is strong, and it drags him back towards it like a magnet. Something clamps down hard on his throat, squeezing tightly. Clumsily, his fingers twitch, trying to move to pry the hands away. He is unsuccessful.

_I can't breathe._

_I can't swim._

_Please... somebody... Daisuke, Patamon... Onii-san...! Help...!_

His body hits something hard. Pinpricks of pain splinter through him, slowly at first, and then building and building until it is nauseating and overwhelming and the need for air becomes too much for him to bare.

His head feels like it's going to split open.

Takeru is forced into suffocation.

* * *

[11:13 a.m.]

An icy feeling is rooted deep into Yamato's bones. His heart is punching his ribcage, and he feels lightheaded from dread.

Something is wrong with his brother. No matter how much he tries to convince himself otherwise, the fact that Takeru is in danger is proven by the messages sent by him and Daisuke mere minutes ago.

_The Village of Beginnings,_ he thinks, his feet slapping the pavement as he runs. _Why are they at the Village of Beginnings?_

"Did they let the others know where they are, or just you?" Taichi asks, each word coming out as a pant. Yamato doesn't slow down. The foreboding feeling of dread will not disappear until he sees his brother, safe and sound.

Taking Yamato's silence as a no, Sora says, "I'll send a quick message. Don't worry; I'll catch up."

Yamato pushes himself to move faster and Sora falls behind, having slowed to halt to inform the rest of their team of Takeru and Daisuke's location. Taichi is close to him, if not almost ahead of him. They're back inside the school, probably causing more commotion than they need to but too panicked to really care. Yamato's mind is set on one thing:

Find a computer so he can get to Takeru.

He turns sharply, bursting through the door of a classroom that has many computers and a few students in it. One of those students is Koushiro. Another is Miyako.

Now, in retrospect, attracting even more attention when he'd just sprinted across the school like a madman was a terrible idea. It doesn't even occur to him that Koushiro is a year younger than him (and Miyako a year younger than _Koushiro_ ) and they should not even be at the high school at the moment. But gone is the voice of reason in his head that tells him to be as inconspicuous as possible—especially because his distress involves the digital world—because he is fueled by the nerve-wracking thought that his little brother is in trouble.

"Koushiro," he barks, breathless and frustrated, with a cold glare in his eyes that makes Koushiro freeze in place. "Digital world. Now."

Miyako and Koushiro share a look, and Koushiro is suddenly sputtering, bug-eyed. His gaze rakes over his peers—there are three of them with him—nervously. "Yamato, I'm kind of in the middle of something with the computer clu—"

"I _don't care._ I need to get to my _little brother_ who _needs me_ in the digital world. Right. Now."

Koushiro glances at Taichi as if he can give him some sort of explanation. With a sheepish laugh, Taichi says, "Um, heh, hey, kids, could you please step out for a little bit. We need to borrow these"—he gestures to Koushiro and Miyako—"two for a moment. 'K?"

He ushers them out within a few moments, which is a few moments too long. Yamato is seething with impatience as he points to the computer closest to him and commands vehemently, "Pull up the portal."

"Ok, ok," Koushiro says, rushing toward the computer as fast as he can. "Would you mind telling me what's going on?"

"Did you get Daisuke's message?" Taichi asks as he closes the door. "He sent out an S.O.S. We'll explain the rest later."

Miyako is already fishing through her bag to find her digivice and d-terminal. "No, I didn't hear it go off. Gosh, chill, would you, Yamato? You didn't need to snap at him."

"Do _not_ tell me to chill." Yamato is by Koushiro's side instantly, practically breathing down his neck. "Takeru is in trouble. Damn it, Koushiro, hurry up!"

"I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying," Koushiro replies with a tinge of hysteria, eyes locked on the screen. After a few clicks and taps, the portal is open and Koushiro asks, "Ah, I see him. The Village of Beginnings?"

"That's where he said he was," Taichi confirms.

"Ok. Let's go," Yamato says hastily, already clutching his digivice. He doesn't even look to check if everyone is ready. Then light engulfs them, dragging them through the portal and his body morphs from flesh and blood to data in a matter of seconds. He doesn't even pause to wait out the dizzy spell that accompanies the trip; as soon as they arrive he's moving at a frenetic pace, stumbling at first.

He hears shouting. Hysteric, panic-stricken voices, screaming like someone is being mercilessly attacked.

"That's Hikari's voice," Taichi says.

"I hear Daisuke, too," Miyako pants, struggling to keep up with the two of them.

_But not Takeru. Where is Takeru?!_

They burst through the trees as soon as the frantic thought crosses Yamato's mind. His gaze searches immediately for his brother's small frame, eyes huge with panic, lungs and legs screaming from all his running. Tailmon, Daisuke, and Hikari are dangerously close to the river. Angemon is flying up and down the expanse of the water, desperately looking back and forth, back and forth.

"Where is he?!" His voice is laced with terror.

"We don't know," Daisuke says loudly so he is heard over the water. "He was—he was walking toward it and then he just _vanished!_ "

"When I got here he was already gone," Hikari says in a similar tone as Daisuke, eyes filled with tears. Taichi is trying to coax her to step away from the large stream of water, but she is struggling. "Nii-san, let me go, he's got to be in the water! It dragged him into the water! He can't swim!"

Yamato's blood freezes like ice and the dread building in his body finally erupts like a volcano, creating a mess of paralytic fear and absolute panic that is somehow scorching hot and icy cold at the same time. His limbs suddenly feel numb.

"It... t-took him into the water?" he whispers, voice breaking. _Something took my brother away?_

"Oh, no," Angemon says suddenly. "I see him—there he is—!"

And then Yamato snaps.

"Get him out," he shouts, eyes burning with tears. "Get him _out!_ Get him out the water!"

The angel digimon complies without hesitation, and Yamato is running again, standing so close to the river's edge just like the others in a desperate attempt to see where his sibling is. His heart is thrashing like an enraged animal in his chest.

There is a body caught in the rocks, dangling helplessly like a piece of driftwood.

Angemon dips under the water with ease, and in seconds he resurfaces, feathered white wings rustling as he pushes himself into the sky, powerful arms scooping up what can only be Yamato's little brother.

His now-soaked wings flex and expand, sending water everywhere as he lands on the ground, holding a wet and bruised and bloody boy close to his chest. Angemon gently lifts him so Takeru's head is close to his ear, and what he says next makes Yamato feel like the ground beneath him has opened up and swallowed him whole.

"He's not breathing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (whispers) yes, I know that the river near Village of Beginnings isn't supposed to be deep, but shhh, that's ok this is ffn.


	10. Marked

**Ch 09 || Marked**

[1 March 2004; 11:31 a.m.]

Everything seems like it is in slow motion.

Time is suspended indefinitely, and shock seeps through every part of Yamato's body once again, leaving him in an undesirable state of numb. The world around him becomes nonexistent and he can only concentrate on one thought:

_Takeru is... not breathing. That means... Takeru is... dead?_

"No," he whispers, shaking his head violently. Denial must be written all over his face. "No, no... not Takeru. Not him. Not my little brother. He c-can't be—"

But there Takeru is, soaked to the bone and unmoving in Angemon's massive arms, too small, too thin, too lifeless—

Next to him, someone chokes out a sob. Hikari? Yamato is not sure. His attention is solely focused on Takeru's motionless figure, and he falls painfully to his knees in front of Angemon, quaking as he cups Takeru's sickly pale face in his hands. His lips are turning blue.

"Buddy," he says, his voice pleading and broken. "W-wake up, ok? I need you to wake up for Nii-san. Please. _Please..._ "

_You can't be dead._

_You're still so young._

_I'm supposed to protect you._

_But I was too late... you can't be dead. You_ can't _be..._

"Takeru, wake up, damn it!" He's shouting now. "Don't you dare die on me. You've got to—"

"What's going on?"

"Is... is that Takeru?"

Yamato doesn't answer the new voices, not immediately. He barely realizes that there's a crowd building around him. Their friends are circling them, all panicky expressions and tear-stained faces and crippling, heavy shock.

"He's not breathing," someone responds finally, echoing Angemon's words. Hikari. Her tone is watery and fearful. "T-Takeru, he just—he was in the river—"

"Oh... oh _no._ " There's rustling, and soon a blue-haired figure is making his way through. Jou. "Guys, back up. Gimme space. Lay him flat—yeah, like that—"

Silence consumes the group, and Yamato's heart is hammering wildly against his ribcage as he watches Jou check for a pulse.

_Please... please have a pulse,_ Yamato begs inwardly, feeling his throat close up more and more with each passing second.

"His heart is still beating," Jou says with a heavy sigh. "I think maybe he's just—"

Suddenly Takeru sputters.

Relief sweeps through Yamato's body so fast that it leaves him dizzy, and a strange sound escapes his lips—a sob? A whimper? A sigh? He doesn't care—as he watches Takeru cough and gasp, spitting out water, whole body convulsing. Such a sight would normally make Yamato feel sick but at this moment, coughing means Takeru is breathing. And if he's breathing that means he's _not dead._

"...thank goodness..."

"...oh, I'm so glad..."

The words are stolen right from Yamato's mouth, and he isn't sure who spoke first, but similar exclamations are echoing around him, and Jou is helping Takeru into a sitting position, all the while checking him for wounds.

"Are you alright Takeru?" Jou asks, but before Takeru can even open his mouth, Yamato is pushing through again, reaching to pull him in a desperate embrace. His brother's eyes are half-lidded and he's wheezing. "Yamato, wait, don't—"

"I thought he was _dead._ Don't you _dare_ tell me I can't hug my brother," he snarls, pinning Jou with an icy glare. Then he fixes his gaze upon the small, shivering blond boy in his arms, his cold stare immediately melting. "Tell me what hurts, Takeru. Tell me what—"

"Yamato, I know you are worried," Jou tells him eventually, slowly, picking each word carefully as if he is trying not to add fuel to the flame. "But from what I understand, and judging by how wet he is, Takeru almost drowned. We have no idea if he hit his head while he was in the water, or if anything in his body is broken, and obviously he's still struggling to breathe. Let him go for a moment... please?"

Gradually, _gradually,_ Yamato releases Takeru. Jou is rubbing Takeru's back, and Sora—when did she get here? Did she arrive with Jou or something?—is resting a hand on Yamato's arm, silently coaxing him to give them some space. Yamato obeys with a frown, if only so Takeru can recover faster. Everyone else is deathly quiet.

Angemon is still kneeling by Takeru's side, and Jou is trying once more to capture Takeru's attention.

"Takeru," he persists, looking him in the eye now. "Do you know where you are?"

Takeru blinks sluggishly in response. He opens his mouth as if to give some sort of verbal reply, but the words are taken from him by another hoarse cough, and he's curling up, hacking into his elbow. Yamato stiffens, hating each moment of this. Every piece of him—every primal, innate piece of him wants to pull his brother away from these people, take him home, wrap him up, shield him from whatever just guided him into the river.

"It's ok," Jou murmurs gently, once again rubbing his back. "Get it all out. Coughing is good."

"H-hurts..." Takeru rasps finally when the coughing fit comes to an end. He winces, looking at Jou with misty eyes.

"What hurts?"

"Th-that thing... it grabbed my n-neck." He flinches again, trembling fingers reaching for his throat. For several heartbreaking moments, he looks disoriented, like he can't tell the difference between past and present. "Am... am I dead?"

Yamato's already fragile heart splinters and breaks, each fragment sinking into his stomach, sharp enough to cut through his internal organs. Takeru's expression bleeds pain and confusion and it's enough to haunt him for months.

"No, no. You're absolutely _not_ dead," he says immediately, now unable to stop himself from moving forward so he can once again gather Takeru in his arms. He doesn't care if he gets wet. This time, Jou doesn't stop him, too shocked by Takeru's question to think of a response. "Look at me, buddy. Look at me. You're _alive,_ ok?"

"Shouldn't we take him back to Earth and to the hospital?" Taichi cuts in suddenly, sounding panicked.

"He's right," Miyako adds. "Look at him, he's so out of it! And—"

"Yes. Yes, we should _definitely_ take him to the hospital," Jou says.

"Oh, dear... Takeru, honey, what did you do to your shoulder?" Sora's voice is laced with concern.

"It looks like a handprint," Koushiro observes with wide eyes.

"That's where that... that monster touched him," Daisuke answers when Takeru only blinks dazedly, unable to keep up with the flurry of questions. "It came out of nowhere and—it when it touched him, it—"

"What monster?" Hikari asks. "Did you actually _see_ it? The thing that's been after him?"

"Yes! That's what we were going to tell you guys." He sweeps his gaze around the circle of Chosen. "That's why I sent the S.O.S.—but then—"

"Stop, stop, stop, _stop_..." Takeru pleads in a hoarse, not-quite whisper. His face contorts with another heavy wince, and a weak hand comes up to massage his temple. "Don't... don't talk so loud... everybody... is _loud_..."

Yamato's grip on Takeru tightens suddenly. He looks up at everyone surrounding them, fury in his eyes. "Ok, everyone _shut up._ We can talk about what happened after my brother isn't in so much pain! So... so shut up for now! Got it?"

His friends obey instantly. Yamato turns back to Takeru, carefully tucking his body into his chest.

"You're gonna be fine," he promises. _You've got to be. I'm not gonna lose you, Takeru. I already came too close. It won't happen again._

Takeru tilts his head up slowly, eyes webbed and glossy. "I'm s-sorry, Nii-san. This was... all my fault. You told me... you told me to stay home, a-and I... I didn't listen..."

"Shh." Yamato brushes the clump of wet hair out of Takeru's eyes. "Don't worry about that."

"But I... I wouldn't have got the headache... if I stayed with you..." He pauses to draw in a deep breath, but has to stop mid-inhale, body quaking with another sputtery cough. He's still shivering, which tells Yamato that he must be cold.

But Takeru's words immensely confuse him. What in the world is his brother talking about? What headache? Maybe he _did_ hit his head under the water. The thought only fills him with dread.

Suddenly a deft ivory hand rests on Takeru's soaked hair. Angemon is staring down at him, lips carved into a frown, expression completely solemn. His fingers glide down the curve of Takeru's jaw, and Takeru seems to welcome the touch instantly, the pain in his features dimming slightly.

A series of familiar of beeps reaches Yamato's ears, and Takeru's digivice lights up like a flashlight switching on to guide a child in the dark. Angemon is engulfed in a gold light that signals digivolution.

Yamato shuts his eyes in spite of himself, the brightness of the evolution causing too much discomfort. Even when the light fades, he struggles to open them again, but when they finally open, he catches a glimpse of purple, of soft white feathers.

HolyAngemon.

"Holy Disinfection," HolyAngemon whispers, his voice soothing. Soft. Gentle. And yet so incredibly powerful, rivaled by none, the words creating a welcoming warmth that sweeps over Takeru like a blanket, seeping into Yamato's skin as well, sinking deeply into his bones. The dread and concern that haunted him moments prior disappears immediately.

The warmth finally dies down, but still lingers. Takeru blinks again, this time in surprise, the mist in his eyes clearing. Some color has returned to his cheeks.

"Nii-san," he says shortly, as if trying to commit the name to his memory. Abruptly, he looks baffled, like Yamato is the last person he expected to see at the moment. "What... when did you get here?"

A whisper of dread returns, fighting against the warmth of HolyAngemon's cure for purchase over Yamato's stomach. "What do you mean? You were just talking to me."

"I was?" Takeru gingerly sits up, and upon realizing that he's half-situated in Yamato's lap, looks around, drinking in the awestruck expressions of their friends. "What's going on?"

Taichi expels a sharp, hysteria-tinged laugh. "That's what we'd like to know, Takeru."

"You said you had a headache," Jou reminds him slowly. "What do you remember?"

Both his and Taichi's words are successful in capturing Takeru's attention. But as he turns, clothes rustling, whole body shifting to meet the gazes of his confused friends, Yamato catches a glimpse of something that makes him feel ill.

Very slowly, as if afraid his touch might hurt Takeru, he reaches for the collar of his brother's shirt. Despite the fact that he's wet from being in the river, Takeru feels warmer now, something that should have put Yamato at ease. But his attention is now fixed on the sickening, burn-like markings circling around his brother's neck in the shape of a ring. There are several, looking so dark in contrast to Takeru's pale skin. A similar marking claims his left shoulder: the place where Daisuke had said something touched him.

"Oh, my god," he murmurs, so quiet that he's sure no one else hears him.

But the flash in Takeru's eyes tells him that he certainly had, and soon they are wide like saucers. "What?"

Yamato's fingertips ghost against the mark, and Takeru's response is immediate: he flinches, recoiling like Yamato's touch caused him pain. A low hiss escapes him and Yamato pulls away, breath hitching in his throat.

Takeru rarely flinches away from him. It hurts way more than Yamato wants to admit.

"Even my antidote couldn't heal the burns," HolyAngemon muses as if to himself, frowning once again. His wings flex, expanding farther and farther as it to touch the sky, and once again he takes Takeru's cheek in his hand, examining the mark closely.

"Wait, didn't you say it grabbed your neck?" someone else asks suddenly. Miyako. She sounds horrified.

Takeru blinks again, slow and careful, as if trying to recall. His brows crinkle in bewilderment. "What?"

"Do you seriously not have any memory of what just happened to you?" Daisuke inquires with an aghast expression.

Takeru is quiet. Yamato studies his brother, just barely catching the sliver of fear that whizzes through his features. It's so fast that no one else sees.

"We were talking about finding something to eat," Daisuke fills in, voice uncharacteristically vigilant. "And... and you kept getting distracted." Then he throws his hands up, looking lost and scared. "You said it wouldn't follow you here, man! And then... and then it put you in a trance and you walked into the river!"

"I..." Takeru swallows, looking anxious. "What?"

"Hey, slow down," Yamato cuts in, looking back at Takeru. His mind is racing. "Is there something after you, Takeru?"

Once again, Takeru is silent. The weight of everyone's attention is enough to send him crumbling, Yamato realizes, and the sudden urge to get him away from this crowd grips him again, this time tighter, and he has to fight every muscle, every bone to keep from acting on that instinct. He can't just carry Takeru away, not when his life had just been so easily put in danger. They need to figure this out. Right here. Right now.

"Takeru?" This time, it's Hikari who speaks. Her tone is tentative. Uncertain.

"Everything was red," he murmurs hesitantly. "There was... a shadow."

"His marks look like yours, Yamato," Sora points out suddenly. Fearfully. And that's it. That sends him over the edge.

A shadow.

Yamato's eyes widen slowly, bit by bit, until they're bulging and full of terror. Here comes the dread again, more powerful and forceful than before. Crashes through the wall of warmth, armed and ready for a fight. A shadow. Just like the shadows in his dreams, consuming his brother painfully slowly, and yet way too quickly.

_"This isn't a dream."_

Outstretched fingers. A look of pure desperation and fear.

_"Don't let them take me again."_

Three-year-old Takeru staring ominously into the shadows of the hallway in the grocery store as if his stare was enough to make them come alive.

_"Why is he blue, Nii-chan?"_

A child that only Takeru could see, decorated with thin ribbons of rainbow colors.

_"Nii-chan! Nii-chan, lookit!_ Colors!"

Takeru's dead weight on his shoulders, tiny fingers squeezing his shirt.

_"Don't worry. I'm right here."_

Yamato feels dizzy as his fingers graze over his side of his neck. He'd forgotten all about it until Sora mentioned it. A burning sensation accompanies the touch, and his breath hitches. No. No, this can't be real. The line between dream and reality isn't allowed to bend and break. It's supposed to be thick and solid, with nothing that can sever it. It can't... he can't _handle_ this. He doesn't want it to be real.

"Nii-san?" Takeru murmurs, his soft and faint like the wind whispering in his ears. His expression is now pinched with fear. "Nii-san, what's wrong?"

"How...? Th-there were no colors," he mutters distantly, looking at Takeru, and even though he's barely a foot away from him, even though his skin is warm and real underneath his hands, he can't really feel him. He can't really see him. "Just shadows. Like sludge."

Takeru's eyes blow wider than Yamato thinks humanly possible. "What?"

"Would you cut it out?" Miyako snaps, but her tone isn't full of annoyance or exasperation. She's rubbing her arms, skin paper-white with horror. "You two are being so confusing and it's scaring the crap out of me."

"You said you didn't want it to take you again," Yamato persists, not acknowledging her at all. "But... but I don't... I don't get it. You were so young... and then..."

"Hey. Hey, _Yamato._ " Taichi is pushing his way through, hands slamming down on Yamato's shoulders with enough force to make him jump in surprise. It's the first thing he can feel, and that alone is almost enough to snap him out of this daze he's been trapped in for the last few minutes. Almost. "Look at my face, ok?"

It takes him a moment to register that Taichi isn't the only one who is close to them. Jou has backed up a few feet to give them space, and Hikari is slipping her hand into Takeru's, looking at him with an expression that bleeds too many emotions for him to list out.

"Here's what we're going to do," Taichi continues, voice low and composed like a storm is brewing, ready to take everything they know and turn it inside out. It's the tone he uses when he's taking control. It's his leader voice. "We are going to get away from this river and go to the Village of Beginnings. We'll get Takeru all warmed up, find our digimon, get everyone here, and then we'll talk about what's going on. We'll sort this out. Ok?"

Yamato pauses to look back at Takeru, whose gaze is focused on Hikari's hand as if it's the first time he's seen it before. She's whispering something to him, her expression now indecipherable. HolyAngemon hovers by him protectively.

"Yamato," Taichi repeats, snapping him back into focus yet again. "Look at me."

"Can you hear us?" That's Sora. "Yamato?"

"Ok," he says, his voice sounding oddly distorted and robotic even to his own ears. It's odd, this feeling. He can only remember experiencing it one time, years ago. When he'd traveled into that cave with Gabumon, sinking deeper and deeper into a chasm of numbing despair.

"Nii-san."

Takeru's voice is disturbingly similar to his own. Hollow. Haunted. But it is enough to ground Yamato, to lift him out of this unfeeling state. He glances at his brother. Their eyes meet.

"Ok," Yamato repeats, stronger this time. He clears his throat. "Let's get going, then."

Taichi pats his shoulder, helps him to his feet. Sora is on his other side, rubbing his arm again, her fingers sending little shocks of warmth into his skin. He shoots them both a thankful glance, unable to conjure the words or even a smile.

Walks straight over to Takeru.

Snakes an arm around his unscathed shoulder, not giving a damn that people are watching.

"I won't let the shadows get you," he vows solemnly, and there's a sense of familiarity in the words that he can't place. They come so naturally, though, rolling off his tongue with haunted firmness. "I promise."

Takeru nods. "I know, Nii-san."

* * *

It takes forever for the final three Chosen to arrive, and by then all their digimon have gathered. Mimi is first, seeming horrified as Sora and Jou catch her up to speed. Ken is second, panting and sweating, looking incredibly worried. He's stuttering apologies for being so late, and many of them are quick to reassure him. Iori is last, appearing so disheveled and guilty that he doesn't look like himself in the slightest.

Which makes sense, Yamato ponders absently. Mimi doesn't seem to care much, but he knows that both younger kids are quick to stick by their morals (Iori especially). It's surprising they showed up at all, with school still in session.

Or is it? Yamato had been so caught up in saving his brother that he's unsure of how much time has truly passed since he'd bolted out of his own school with Taichi and Sora on his tail.

Whatever. That's not what matters right now. What matters is destroying the thing that tried to take his little brother away from him.

Thinking about it makes Yamato stiffen from his place next to Takeru. HolyAngemon has yet to devolve. He's sitting against a tower of rainbow blocks, reluctant to leave Takeru's side. Gabumon had digivolved into Garurumon the moment he saw Yamato, as if sensing something was terribly off, and now he's curled around them, head resting on his paws, tail twitching absently every minute or so.

The rest of the their team is gathered around them, their own partners close by. They're all quiet, waiting to see who will speak first.

It's Elecmon, who had welcomed them into his village the moment he saw Takeru and his digimon partner. His eyes are wise and sad. "You've gotten yourself into a bit of trouble, haven't you, Takeru?"

That elicits a laugh, but it's such an empty sound that it doesn't seem like it comes from his brother at all. Even now, with his clothes mostly dry, and the color back in his face, he looks disturbed. The marks on his skin seem somehow darker than they did before, and Yamato isn't sure if it's just him.

"I guess so."

"These... creatures," Koushiro begins uncertainly. "When was the first time you encountered them?"

"...Ken's birthday party," Takeru answers hesitantly.

The response is immediate. Ken's eyes blow wide. Miyako is sputtering. Iori's is rapidly growing pale, his grip tightening on Armodillomon. It's obvious they had no clue of this until this moment, which doesn't at all relieve the tension in Yamato's body.

"Which explains why I couldn't find you during our game," Daisuke continues for him, with noticeably more calmness than the other kids. "You were hiding behind the door. But the first time I looked... you weren't there."

"I'd thought you'd moved," HolyAngemon comments, feathered wings twitching. Yamato can't see his eyes, but he knows he's looking at Takeru. "But then Daisuke came in again, found me, and there you were again, behind the door."

"Just like when you were walking into the river," Daisuke says, with odd tremor in his voice. "You were walking toward the edge, but just as you stepped in, you... you _vanished._ "

"Why didn't you say anything?" Ken asks, his voice tight.

Takeru shrugs, looking too small, too fragile under the weight of their attention. "You guys were having such a good time. I didn't want to ruin that. And... and I thought... maybe I was hallucinating because I didn't feel well." A pause. "I don't know anymore."

Yamato works his jaw. His fists are clenched tightly, knuckles white. It's very subtle, but he can see Takeru shaking.

"Wait, so who all knew?" Mimi asks softly, looking around the group with curious eyes.

"I did," Hikari replies softly. She isn't looking at anyone. "I found out on Friday."

"I found out today," Daisuke adds, matching her quiet tone. "We came here because we thought we wouldn't be followed."

The words feel like knives piercing Yamato's skin. By now, he's as still as a puppet. It makes this weekend seem like so much sense, why Hikari and Takeru had disappeared Friday night. Why they dodged Yamato and Taichi's questions Saturday morning. Why Takeru looked so reluctant when Yamato said he was staying with them for the weekend.

It doesn't change the fact that Takeru had opened up to his friends, rather than his own brother. But then, it makes Yamato a hypocrite if he calls him out. He didn't breathe a word about his dreams. Thought they were a coincidence. They had an effect on him, sure, but he'd brushed them aside until Angemon pulled him out of the water.

He tries not to shudder.

Would things be different, if he'd told Takeru about his dream the moment he'd seen him on Saturday? Then again, he knows Takeru. When Takeru wants to keep something a secret, it stays a secret. It's something he's gotten way too good at. Keeping things locked inside until something drastic happens and everything is forcibly pulled out into the open.

Today is an example of that.

"Can you talk about it, Takeru?" he asks in this strange voice that is somehow solemn, pleading, and toneless at the same time. "Can you tell me what you've been seeing? Not Daisuke. Not Hikari. I want to hear it from you."

Takeru looks at him then, and for a moment the guilt in his gaze is enough to make Yamato think that his request is uncalled for. Maybe having help in telling the story makes it easier. He's never been the type of kid who likes being the center of attention.

But Yamato can't help it. The monsters he's seeing in his dreams... only Takeru has really experienced them. Daisuke's seen it, sure, but only fleetingly. He hasn't experienced the things Takeru has. He wants to hear Takeru's side.

"Sure," he says eventually, faintly, swallowing hard. His eyes drift to his fingers.

And then he starts. Very slowly, it all comes out: Yamato hears about the headaches, the incident at the birthday party, and the one Friday. He hears about what happened in the library, and on his way home from school. Everyone else is listening, hanging on every word. And with each shaky sentence, with each description, Yamato's uneasiness increases.

He's dreamed about the shadows with pearlesque eyes.

He's dreamed about them asking why he's forgotten their existence, asking if he remembers them.

"...it was waiting for me to leave you, I think," Takeru continues quietly. "It was waiting by your window all night. Everything outside your room was red."

"What?" he murmurs in horror, feeling the color drain from his face. "It was... and you didn't wake me?"

Takeru is quiet for so long that it doesn't seem like he's going to give an actual answer. The hesitation is felt by everyone it seems, but no one pushes him to continue. Not even Koushiro, who looks ready to burst, brain most likely with an unending list of questions.

"Is that what you dream about, Nii-san?" Takeru whispers suddenly. "The monsters."

Yamato abruptly feels cold. His blood is frozen inside his veins, with nothing warm enough to thaw it. His heart stutters, and stops, and reboots back into its normal rhythm like a computer being restarted. His flat, ominous tone is way, way to similar to the creepy not-Takeru from his dream.

"You said there were no colors," Takeru states when he receives no verbal response. It's an echo of Yamato's hollow words. "Only shadows."

Oh. Yamato blinks, and suddenly everyone's attention has shifted onto him. Admits truthfully, "I... I saw them in my dreams, yeah."

"Before I saw it," Takeru persists, looking at his hands again, "you looked like you were having a nightmare."

Rewinding. Before school, before Takeru walking out in front of that car, before breakfast. Takeru had looked so, so tired. He still does. Yamato tries to remember having a dream Saturday night. Nothing comes to his mind. All he can recall is the one from class, and the memory makes him wince.

"But it had to have touched you, too," Daisuke comments, pointing at Yamato's neck. "You're burned like Takeru."

"Did it touch you, Nii-san?" Takeru asks, looking directly at him. "In... in your dreams? It can reach you there? What did it look like?"

For a moment, Yamato doesn't want to answer. Takeru's eyes are big and haunted, webbed with exhaustion. Knowing the truth will only scare him, will deepen his fears.

But he deserves to know. He needs to know. It's the only way they will move forward.

"It looked like you."

The reaction that follows this confession is expected. HolyAngemon places a protective hand on Takeru's right shoulder, and Garurumon bristles. Their companions share all share a look that bleeds disbelief. Takeru is the worst—the panic crossing his features sends a spiderweb of cracks in Yamato's heart.

"But you were so small," he hurries to explain, if only to erase the distress written across his brother's face. "You were just a toddler. That's what confused me. And... and you had friends..."

"Friends?" Takeru echoes, hysteria tinging his voice.

"There were so many kids with you." He swallows, blinking as if the action alone is enough to rid the images of those shadow children from his mind. "You said they'd been forgotten by their families."

Hibiki. Ichirou. The names pop up in his mind and won't leave. Confusion settles in, deeper, harsher than before. He doesn't understand _any_ of this. How does his presence keep the monsters at bay? How is the younger version of Takeru connected to the present one? What significance do the kids in his dreams have? Why is it Takeru they're after, and Takeru alone? They can't solve a puzzle with so little pieces.

"Can I ask you two something?" Koushiro cuts in abruptly _(there it is)_ and continues without waiting for a reply: "Takeru, these beings... they seem to speak to you like they know you. But you said you've never seen them before?"

"Not until a few weeks ago," Takeru confirms quietly.

"Maybe..." Koushiro trails off, uncertain. A finger is curled underneath his chin in a way that tells Yamato he's deep in thought.

"What?" Takeru and Yamato prompt simultaneously. It's obvious they're both desperate for answers, even if it's just an educated guess.

"Maybe the creatures purposely made you forget," he suggests thoughtfully. "Perhaps you did know them in the past, and they did something to wipe both of your memories."

"But why now?" Yamato says, trying to keep his voice from cracking. "Takeru's obviously right here. They couldn't get him when he was a kid. Why would they wait this long to come after him?"

He waits and waits for the answer that never comes, and alongside the confusion is frustration. Why _Takeru?_ He can't take it—Takeru is still so young, and he's dealt with so much, endured things that no child should ever have to endure. He doesn't care how big or small or terrifying these creatures are, he wants to beat the hell out of them even thinking about laying a hand on his little brother.

"We wish we knew, Yamato," Sora says forlornly, with a sympathetic expression.

"It would be so much easier if they were actually digimon, wouldn't it?" Hikari asks woodenly.

It's the first time she's spoken since Yamato had asked for Takeru's side of the story. Taichi's brows furrow quizzically, looking just as stunned by her words as Yamato. "What do you mean?"

"If it was a digimon, we'd find a way to track it down and kick its butt," Miyako says, scowling. "That's what we did last time. We'd be prepared."

"We could plan our attack right now," Iori murmurs, resting his chin on his knees.

"Since we have no idea what we're dealing with, there's no way to prepare," Hikari finishes. Her eyes are sad as she glances at Takeru. "I'm sorry that we haven't been able to figure it out, Takeru."

Suddenly, Takeru smiles: soft and weak, but genuine. It's an action Yamato doesn't expect in the slightest, not with the exhaustion written across his face. Not with the paleness of his skin. Not with the markings on neck and shoulder.

He'd almost died today, and Takeru is _smiling._

"Thank you for trying to help," he says, and the sincerity in his voice is almost enough to cause Yamato physical pain. "I really appreciate it."

"We will figure this out, Takeru," Yamato says firmly. Tries to ignore the ache in his heart. "I won't stop until you're safe."

"Neither will I," HolyAngemon murmurs, nodding determinedly.

Takeru's smile widens a fraction. "Thank you, Nii-san."

"Maybe we should go home," Koushiro suggests abruptly, "and do some research. See if we can find something that's similar to these creatures you're seeing."

"That seems like a good idea," Jou adds, nodding in affirmation. "We've already been out of school long enough to draw some attention. Our parents are going to be worried."

"That's true," Iori says, guilt lacing his voice. "We're probably going to get in a lot of trouble as it is."

"What would we even look up?" Miyako asks, nose scrunched up in confusion. "Urban legends? Myths? Rainbow ghosts? I don't know if you've noticed, but none of us have heard of these things before!"

"It's a worth a shot," Ken says, with a touch of amusement as he sees Miyako's exasperated face.

"But you all _do_ look like you could use some rest," Elecmon pipes up. "I'll ask around and see what I can found out around here. What do you th—Takeru? What's wrong?"

Yamato looks immediately back at his brother, and he isn't the only one. Takeru's cradling his head with one hand now, expression contorted with pain, face void of color all of a sudden.

"Teek?" he says, the dread returning once again at full-force. "Takeru, hey. _Hey._ "

Takeru obeys slowly, eyes suddenly very hazy. He blinks but the pain in his gaze doesn't fade. Whispers in a husky voice, "I... I think it's... h-here."

"What? Again?" Daisuke's nearly shouting, up on his feet in a matter of seconds. "How? Where is it?"

Yamato's eyes are wide as he waits for Takeru's answer, but all that comes out is a string of incoherent mumbles that doesn't sound like actual words. His stomach churns and twists until he feels nauseous.

HolyAngemon reaches out to touch him, but pulls away instantly like he's been shocked. Yamato opens his mouth to speak, to say something that just might capture Takeru's attention.

But the words are stolen from him as the burning sensation in his neck from earlier suddenly intensifies. It feels like someone has placed searing-hot metal on his skin. The marks on Takeru's skin suddenly look very, very dark.

"Yamato?" he hears Garurumon say, alert and afraid. "Takeru? What's going on?"

The world disappears for a few suspended moments before he can attempt to respond again. When it returns, he sees that people are closer than before. Daisuke is shouting at Takeru's crumpled form, and Jou is wide-eyed over him, saying words that reach his ears very slowly.

"...mato, can you... hear me...?"

"Takeru...!" Daisuke. "...have to tell us where it is!"

"Don't touch them!" HolyAngemon. His own voice is laced with agony. "You'll be burned!"

More shouting. It's too loud and too soft at the same time. Yamato squeezes his eyes shut, wishing for those precious moments of nothingness one more time. But it doesn't come, and when he forces himself to peel his eyes back open, he wishes he didn't.

There it is. The shadow looming over Takeru like a predator ready attack its prey, eyes like mirrors. It walks so slowly, like it is just now learning how to move properly. Takeru doesn't seem to notice it at all.

_No,_ he shouts in his mind, fighting with every ounce of willpower in him to move, to reach for his brother. _I... I promised...!_

His fingers brush against Takeru's skin. He's not sure if it's his hand, or arm, or cheek. But the moment he touches him, he feels the shock. It's like a current of electricity is passing through their skin, coursing rapidly through veins, through muscle, through bone.

Yamato doesn't care. He coils his fingers around whatever part of his brother he can. Refuses to let go no matter how much it hurts.

And descends into darkness.


	11. Butterfly Effect

**Ch 10 || Butterfly Effect**

[date: unknown; time: unknown]

Takeru awakens with a groan, trying to push aside the mild, but unpleasant drumming in his head. The moment his eyes flutter open, they clamp shut again on their own accord, and it requires a troubling amount of effort to pry them apart again.

It takes all of three seconds to realize that it doesn't matter if his eyes are open or closed. Because the world is completely dark anyway.

He bolts upward and soon regrets it when a spell of dizziness claims him. One of his hands comes up to cradle his head—an action he's long grown used to performing—and is forced to stop when he feels some sort of resistance.

Blinking dazedly, Takeru waits for the cobwebs of confusion in his brain to scatter, and he rapidly identifies the thing on his wrist as a hand. A _human_ hand with five fingers, coiled tightly around him like a spring.

Unable to see, his first instinct is to yank away with as much strength as he can muster. But that turns out to be very little; every part of him is weak and he can't figure out why. The small movement, however, causes the person next to him to moan in dismay.

Guilt swamps him immediately. It sounds like... "Nii-san?"

Another croaky sound, followed by a disoriented hum. Takeru flinches, wishing he could see his brother's expression. To see if he's actually awake. If he's hurt. But he can't see anything at all, and it's unnerving.

"Nii-san?" he repeats uneasily, fear crawling into his voice. "Nii-san, you have to wake up. Please."

Silence. Then something shuffles, and Takeru hears rustling. Quietly: "Ta...Takeru?"

"It's me," Takeru confirms, matching his brother's tone.

"I—" A cough. A hiss of pain. The warmth of Yamato's fingers disappears in an instant. _"Ouch."_

"What?" Takeru asks instantly, eyes widening again. He yearns for something that can help him make out his surroundings—a sliver of light, maybe. Even if it's faint, anything is better than utter blackness. "I can't see, Nii-san. Tell me what's wrong."

Hesitance. "M-my hand. It burns."

"Because..." He swallows the lump in his throat. "Because you touched me?"

"What? No, Teek, I don't think—" Yamato stops, hissing again. When he speaks again, he sounds extremely confused. "What happened?"

"I... I don't know," Takeru confesses truthfully. "We were talking with the others in The Village of Beginnings, and suddenly..."

He trails off, struggling to recall. Koushiro had suggested they leave, and... and then...? He feels like he should know the rest, but the complete answer lingers in a part of his brain that's just beyond his reach. All that he can think of is pain, pain, _pain..._ He winces, chewing his lip until it bleeds and using the unpleasant sting to distract himself from those awful thoughts.

"I don't know," he repeats, voice wobbling dangerously. His eyes burn with the sudden, unwanted onset of tears, and he sniffles, trying to blink away the sensation. It doesn't work. "It's too dark, and I can't see, and I don't know where we are, Nii-san. I'm scared."

"Hey, shh." More shuffling. Yamato's moving on the other side of him—the side of him that's clean of wounds. An arm snakes awkwardly around Takeru's waist, and then Yamato's chin is coming to rest on his head. "It's ok, Teek. We'll figure it out. I promise."

He sniffles again and nods shakily, increasingly grateful for Yamato's presence, but the tears won't stop. He feels them dribble down his cheeks, dampening his shirt. He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand _anything._

They sit there for a while, with Yamato rubbing his back in slow circles and murmuring soothing words, until the tears finally dry on his cheeks and Takeru is able to regain his composure.

"Can... can you stand?" Yamato asks tentatively. "Are you hurt at all?"

Takeru is reluctant to reply, at first. He abruptly wonders which one of Yamato's hands is burned, and as soon as that thought crosses his brain, he realizes just how bad his burns are, too. His neck. His shoulder. It doesn't hurt as much as he knows it should, but thinking about it makes his head pound anew. And _that_ ache haunts him more than anything else. He'll take anything over these terrible headaches.

"Right," Yamato murmurs when he doesn't receive a verbal response. "Of course you're hurt. That was a stupid question."

"I... I can stand, though."

Slowly, Yamato releases him, but one of his arms hovers near his body, as though to catch him if he falls. Takeru pushes himself off the ground—are they sitting on grass? It feels crisp and scratchy like grass—and teeters unsteadily. Even though he moved as slow as possible, the action is still jarring enough to make him dizzy.

He reaches for the sleeve of Yamato's blazer, too afraid that touching his hand will cause him pain, and does his best to help Yamato to his feet. They're both silent again, and even with his brother close to him, Takeru feels cold. He aches for HolyAngemon's warm presence.

HolyAngemon.

Takeru's eyes pop. "Do... do you think that our digimon are back with the others?"

A pause. "Probably." And then he hears the sound of clothes rustling again. "I don't have my digivice."

Takeru instantly checks his pockets. His throat constricts when he finds them both empty. "Me, neither."

"Maybe... maybe we dropped them?" Yamato says, so quietly that Takeru almost doesn't catch the tremor in his voice. "Stay close to me, alright?"

He nods, but then remembers Yamato can't see the action, so he hums in acknowledgement. Leaving his brother's side makes his stomach clench with anxiety, and it's extremely unnerving to know that Yamato is equally uneasy.

"Which way should we go?" he whispers nervously.

Yamato doesn't answer right away. Takeru blinks as if doing so will help him see better, straining his ears. Is it true that losing one of your senses heightens the others? He can't tell the difference, but then, he hasn't been awake for more than ten minutes. And—

After a few moments, Takeru's heart stutters uncomfortably in his chest as the realization hits.

Something... something isn't right.

"Nii-san."

"Yeah?"

"It's quiet."

"I know, Teek."

"No, like," he persists, brows knitting together in distress, "it's _silent._ Can you hear anything? Anything at all?"

This makes Yamato go unnaturally still. Takeru wishes desperately that he could see his expression, just so he can take a guess at what his brother is thinking. But his words are disturbingly true: the world, save for their breathing, is entirely void of noise. No wind. No signs of other life.

Takeru takes an experimental step forward, swallowing thickly. He tries again, this time with more force. But no sound accompanies this action; not even the crunch of grass.

"What the hell?" Yamato says quietly in horror.

Takeru's heart beats quicker and quicker until his pulse is roaring in his ears, and even though hearing something should have put him at ease, it doesn't. It only heightens his anxiety.

"What even is this place?" Takeru wonders aloud, forcing himself to speak over the deafening sound of his heartbeat. "It... it's so—"

His breath hitches, voice dying immediately. Above them, threads of lightning briefly illuminate the sky, and the ground beneath them shudders with the force of what can only be thunder. In that quick second, he realizes that yes, they're outside, standing on grass like he suspected. Beyond the grass are sidewalks. Streets without traffic flow. Traffic lights that aren't working. Signs that should have words and shapes on them but are, instead, completely blank. The buildings in the distance look only vaguely familiar.

Except he can't actually hear the thunder. Like he's watching a storm on a television that's been muted.

And the lightning is a deep, dark shade of red, almost like blood. The sight is sinister enough to draw a shiver out of him.

"Nii-san," he says frantically, pulling on his brother's sleeve. "Nii-san, _please_ tell me you saw that."

For a moment, he expects the response to be one born out of confusion. Other than when Takeru and Daisuke had been in the park on Earth, no one else has seen the explosions of colors. He's not even sure if Daisuke saw the colors; he only knows for certain that Daisuke saw the small shadow creature running away like a terrified animal. His brother's words from earlier reverberate in his mind:

_"There were no colors."_

But Yamato whispers, "I did, Teek."

Takeru isn't sure if he should be relieved or horrified. A strange mixture of both feelings settles deep in his stomach and causes it to roll uneasily.

"If it starts raining," he starts uncertainly, swallowing hard, "where do we go for shelter?"

"I'm not sure." Yamato gently pulls his sleeve free from Takeru's grip, but only so he can hook his hand around Takeru's bicep. He tugs carefully, whispering, "Let's move slowly. One step at a time, ok?"

Takeru hesitates only briefly before he pushes his terror down. Down. Down. But it keeps climbing back up. "...right."

He follows Yamato's lead, each step careful and clumsy. It's incredibly disorienting, at first. His eyes are struggling to see something, anything, in the darkness, and eventually he decides the only way to prevent discomfort from the strain is to keep them closed. Minutes crawl by, filled only with the symphony of their breathing and Takeru's racing pulse which he's sure is so loud that Yamato can hear it, too.

Suddenly he hears Yamato gasp in surprise, and his eyes pop open to see what has drawn such a reaction out of his brother.

This time, when the lightning returns, it's blue. Takeru tries unsuccessfully to keep his heart rate under control, throat constricting when it doesn't fade. The blue lingers like a giant stain in the sky. It's beautiful and unusual enough that it should leave him gaping in fascination and awe, but all he can feel is fear.

Because he knows from experience what's going to come next. Once again, he's brutally reminded of Ken's birthday party. Except it's not confined to one area, like Ken's bedroom, or the library. It's everywhere, stretching over the expanse of the clouds like a spiderweb. Sleek. Delicate. And there is no distraction to send the colors away. Yamato is right here, holding onto him, keeping him in reality.

(What even is reality, anyway?)

The ground quakes again with soundless not-thunder.

Takeru takes it back. He prefers the darkness over this.

"This... this is freaking insane," Yamato mutters, grip tightening on Takeru's right arm.

Takeru nods numbly, unable to come up with a reply. No words will come out. It is so, so much worse than just 'insane.' It's something straight out of a horror movie—one that doesn't end happily. Another disturbing chill crawls down Takeru's spine, muscles pulled taut with dread. His chest feels uncomfortably tight, like he's exhaled all of the air in his lungs but forgotten how to breathe it back in.

"Let's keep walking," Yamato tells him quietly, and Takeru only realizes that he's stopped moving when Yamato gently coaxes him to take a step forward, and another, and another.

"To where?" Takeru croaks out, and he feels like he's asked that question too many times. But he can't help it. He doesn't like not knowing.

"Still working on that part, Teek."

He says it softly, but Takeru can hear the frustrated undertone in his voice. He bites his lip again. "I'm sorry, Nii-san."

That makes Yamato pause. "For what?"

"For dragging you into this," he mumbles. "It was—"

"Like hell I was going to let my little brother get taken away by who-knows-what." The quiver in his voice is now unmistakable, but he says the words without hesitation. "I'm not going back on my promise. I'm not gonna leave you here by yourself."

Takeru freezes, but soon the shock in his expression gives way to a small, warm smile. Reluctantly, he murmurs, "I... I'm glad I'm not here alone."

It's true. As much as he hates that other people are involved in this because of him, he doesn't know how he would react to being stuck in this place all by himself. He's already scared out of his mind—without his brother here, he's sure that the panic would take over completely, turning him in a shaking, hyperventilating mess.

"Me too," Yamato says softly. "I'd be worried sick about you. I—"

He pauses suddenly, clearing his throat. Takeru can't tell which one of them is shaking.

"I thought I'd lost you, back at the river," he admits finally in a tight voice. "You weren't moving, and... and you were so _pale._ Don't ever do that to me again, ok, Teek?"

Takeru swallows, remorse chewing its way through his skin. "I won't, Nii-san."

"Promise?"

He's pleading now, and it comes to Takeru's attention that Yamato has acted so much unlike himself for the past couple of days that it's almost jarring. Because in front of everyone else, his Onii-san is cool, calm, collected. He's got walls of iron that are impenetrable. Nothing can break through.

This side of Yamato... it makes his heart squeeze. He doesn't like that he's the culprit of Yamato's distress.

"I promise," he whispers, with a firm nod. "And promise to keep yourself safe, too, alright, Nii-san? We need to get out of this place together."

Yamato nods, too. His hand uncoils from around Takeru's arm and he ruffles Takeru's hair affectionately. The corners of Yamato's lips tilt in his version of a smile. "Right."

Even with this sickening blue tint bathing the whole world, it's good to see Yamato smile. It sparks a flame of hope in Takeru's chest—a flame of hope that keeps dwindling, but never fully fades. He can't allow it to fade. They can figure this out. They _have_ to.

Takeru turns, determination rocketing through him. A new thread of lightning whizzes through the sky, this time yellow, merging with the blue to create a foreboding shade of green. Just as he makes a move to start walking again, Yamato reaches out and stops him.

"Takeru."

Yamato's voice is suddenly very low. Like a warning.

"Yeah," he whispers. "I know. It's green now."

"It's not just that."

Takeru's brows furrow quizzically, and he pivots so he can look at Yamato's face again. Except his brother is not facing him.

He's looking up. Takeru's eyes slowly follow his gaze, mapping out the shape of a building. It's tall and seems to be close to them, maybe twenty or so feet away, resembling an apartment complex of sorts. Many more decorate the area, but that's not what makes Takeru's skin crawl.

It's the countless number of luminescent, pearl-like eyes peering down at them curiously from each window. Takeru's gaze sweeps over each pair, and the eyes track each movement, every breath. He doesn't dare want to think about what will happen if they get closer.

Why is it every time he finds something to anchor him, it's instantly ripped away from him? And every time he squashes his fears, they come back tenfold?

"I... don't think we should go in that direction," Takeru says faintly, swallowing hard.

Yamato nods in agreement. He exhales: a low, quiet, shaky breath. "C'mon. This way."

He guides Takeru away from the building with all the eyes, and neither of them turn back to look at it. They still don't know where they're going.

Takeru hopes they find out soon.

* * *

[1 March 2004; time: unknown]

"They're gone," Daisuke whispers in shock. "I can't believe they're gone. Just like that."

Everyone is dead silent. An unpleasant, unwanted feeling settles in Daisuke's chest. He's seen a lot of weird things in his time of being a Chosen. _A lot._ But he can't get his mind wrapped around what he just witnessed. Every time Takeru has vanished, he's reappeared seconds or even minutes later.

But the minutes pass. He's not sure how many. And Takeru doesn't come back. Neither does Yamato. The colorful, vibrant atmosphere of the Village of Beginnings seems much more muted, now. Darker. Spiritless.

"Where could they have gone?" Hikari asks softly, with bulging eyes that define fear.

There is no answer for this question. Daisuke swallows with difficulty, raking a hand through his hair just for something to do—and instantly stops when pain shoots through his fingers.

He winces heavily, hissing loudly. Looks back at his hand in confusion and feels his eyes pop when he sees the burn marks on them. HolyAngemon's warning echo in his brain.

_"Don't touch them! You'll be burned!"_

_Oops,_ is all that he can think. Because he'd touched Takeru without even thinking. But it doesn't make sense! He remembers pulling Takeru off that bench in the park, and he hadn't been burned then!

"Daisuke, sweetie," Sora says instantly, gently taking ahold of his wrist. "Let me see your hand."

He obeys, eyes still wide as she studies the wounds. But before he can say a word, the world is bathed with iridescent gleams—someone's digimon is digivolving.

Or, rather, _de_ -digivolving.

In seconds, Gabumon and Tokomon are staring up at the group with identical expressions of alarm, which makes Daisuke feel even more uneasy because, man, can this day _get_ any weirder? This is a new definition of strange entirely.

"Why did they _both_ disappear?" Tokomon asks, black eyes watery, voice quivering. It's a stark contrast to HolyAngemon's solemn, calm-and-collected demeanor. He's looking down at the collection of trinkets piled on the grass where Yamato and Takeru once were.

Their d-terminals and digivices. Uncertainty weighs heavy in Daisuke's body.

"We're trying to figure that out," Koushiro says contemplatively, and he studies their surroundings with an indecipherable expression.

"It looks just like Takeru's and Yamato's marks," Sora murmurs finally, pulling Daisuke's attention back to her. She's holding his wrist, careful not to touch the wounds on his hand directly.

Oh, right. His hand.

"This is freaking _insane_ ," Taichi blurts, gaze sweeping over their team mates. He starts with Daisuke, whose brain is still short-circuiting. At Hikari, who has shut down completely, face now wiped clean of emotion. At Koushiro, who looks like he's solving an imaginary Rubik's cube in his head. At Sora, who has yet to let go of Daisuke's hand. At Jou, who is walking over to join her, inspecting the wounds and trying to figure out how to prevent infection without the proper medical supplies.

At Ken, who is crowding around Daisuke as well, eyes brimming with concern.

At Iori, who is incapacitated with disbelief.

At Mimi, whose staring blankly at the vacant space Yamato and Takeru had previously occupied.

At their digimon, one by one, who look like they are ready for a fight, but also don't know _what_ they're supposed to be fighting. Daisuke may be imagining it, but he thinks he catches a glimpse of guilt in their gazes.

And Miyako—

"Let's recap," Miyako says suddenly, her voice drenched with hysteria. "So Takeru has been targeted by something that only he can see for a while. He ran here with you"—she points at Daisuke—"and ended up in the river. Then he catches us up to speed, but it doesn't even matter because it came after him anyway and he just freaking disappeared right in front of us and—"

She throws her arms up in the air with a frustrated groan, breathing fast, panic etched across her face.

"And... and Yamato went with him," Hikari finishes hollowly. "But why only him?"

If repeating the question will answer it, Daisuke will ask it as many times as he is able. But it doesn't work like that, apparently, because they keep wondering the same thing over and over again and come up with nothing. How come Daisuke was able to see it this morning, but not both times in the digital world? This is so confusing. It's making his head spin.

Except... wait.

Daisuke looks back at his hand. His fingers are raw and blisters mark his skin in thick ribbons, crooked and ugly. The searing pain has been dulled by shock, and he tries to think back to a few minutes before, when Yamato...

When Yamato reached out and grabbed Takeru's wrist, right as they both vanished into thin air.

"Oh," he whispers, eyes popping as realization sinks in. "That's why."

He doesn't notice that his words have attracted the attention of his friends until Miyako asks, "Care to share with the class, Daisuke?"

"Yamato was touching Takeru," he answers, blinking as the image hits him full-force. "That's why he disappeared, too."

There's a small pause as Daisuke's words sink in, and it doesn't take long for Koushiro's eyes to pop. It's like a light bulb has gone off over his head. "That's a definite possibility! You only touched Takeru for a couple of seconds, correct?" When Daisuke nods silently, he persists, "Perhaps you let go too soon. Yamato grabbed him at just the right moment."

It still doesn't make any sense, but rather than voice that thought, Daisuke nods again. It's easier to pretend he understands than press for a better explanation, because at this point, there's really _not_ a better explanation.

"That still doesn't tell us how to get them _back_ ," Miyako says.

"No, it doesn't," Koushiro murmurs, now deflating. His lips are pursed into a thin line.

For the first time, V-mon speaks up. He's looking up at Daisuke with soft ruby eyes. "I'm sure we'll find a way to get to them."

"We have to," Gabumon says, and the worry in his voice is unfathomable. "We have to find a way."

"I wish I could be with Takeru," Tokomon says dejectedly. "Who knows what could happen to him without protection?"

Sora leaves Daisuke in Jou's care, carefully making her way over to Takeru's digimon partner. She crouches down, gently placing her hand on Tokomon's head. "Takeru's with his brother. You know how protective of him Yamato is."

Tokomon nods at that, melting into her hand, the despair in his eyes not disappearing but looking considerably dimmer. Piyomon is next to Gabumon, one arm-wing comfortingly patting his shoulder.

Elecmon has moved to join him, expression knitted tightly with solemnity. A clawed hand comes down to stroke Tokomon's back. "We'll figure it out."

"I wish we could have done something sooner," Daisuke hears Palmon say, and a glance to his left shows him her troubled expression.

Agumon nods sadly. "Maybe if we took action right when he told us, we could have stopped this."

Daisuke freezes, looking at his own partner with confused eyes. "Wait a second. You... what do you mean? He literally _just_ filled everyone in."

His head immediately catapults back to this morning, when Takeru gave him all the details. He remembers him saying that he told Hikari, and then again when he repeated his story to the rest of the Chosen. He doesn't remember hearing about the other digimon.

The digimon all fall quiet, the guilt in their faces more evident than before. Even V-mon is suspiciously avoiding his gaze.

"...when we went to the digital world Friday night," Hikari begins slowly, shakily, "all the digimon were together." She walks over to where their friends' digivices are, leaning down to pick up Takeru's D3. Quickly steels her expression, fingers clenching around the device. It's weird, seeing Hikari—kind, sweet, beautiful Hikari—look so wooden. Like a puppet. "They stayed with us in the cave, and Takeru told them everything."

Mimi looks down at Palmon with a forlorn expression. "You... you knew?"

Palmon winces as her voice cracks. She gives her partner an apologetic look. "We did."

"Why didn't you say anything when Takeru was telling us?" Taichi asks, looking equally upset. His gaze lingers on Hikari.

It's Gomamon who speaks next. He shrugs as best as a little seal creature can. "...Yamato asked for Takeru's side. Not ours."

"That's true," Wormmon adds, looking up at Ken with mournful eyes. "I'm sorry, Ken-chan. We thought it was best to follow Takeru's wishes, at the time."

Ken's smile is bittersweet. "It's not your fault. It's nobody's fault, really."

"Ken's right," Tailmon confirms. "What's done is done. Everyone's on the same page now, so let's do what we can now."

Another silence follows her words. Normally, Daisuke would immediately agree—just sitting here doing nothing but chatting about the past isn't going to solve anything. He doesn't like just standing still and doing nothing. He would feel so much better if they could get past this idle state.

But... but what is there to do? They know almost nothing about these creatures, except that they're creepy and after Takeru. And it's not like—

A rumbling noise cuts off that train of thought. Daisuke's eyes widen as far as they can, and V-mon's claws are already resting on his left calf, doing his best to keep him steady. Daisuke's hand—the one that's not burned—is already in his pocket, gripping his D3 tightly. Adrenaline is already spiking through him.

He doesn't have time to act. The whole sky seems to split in two right above them, and the brightness that follows makes Daisuke's eyes clench shut.

"No need to be alarmed," a deep, powerful voice says, and even though the speaker is talking softly, the words send an earthquake through his body. "I come in peace."

Daisuke pries his eyes open slowly, lowering his arms. V-mon's grip on his leg has loosened considerably out of bewilderment.

"Qinglongmon," someone breathes out in wonder. It's Iori.

Blotchy spots dance around Daisuke's vision and it takes a worrying amount of time to clear. When it finally does, he's still blinking, too stunned to do anything else.

Indeed, it is Qinglongmon, and he's suspended across the clouds, so large that it seems like he is touching every corner of the sky. Daisuke suddenly seems very small.

The burns on his finger suddenly seem nonexistent.

"Whoa," he whispers, unable to stop himself from gaping in amazement.

He's seen Qinglongmon before, during his first adventure as a Chosen Child. But it's been such a long time that it's like he's forgotten about it entirely. Sure, V-mon is a dragon. But he's not used to seeing dragons _this_ huge.

Everyone is stunned into silence, staring at Qinglongmon in an equal blend of shock, fear, awe, and fascination. Even the digimon look entirely speechless. When no one breathes a word, Qinglongmon blinks down at them, huge eyes sparking with an eerie solemnity.

"I am certain you all have questions," he begins in that same voice that feels like thunder in Daisuke's bones. "But I know there is not much time."

"Time... for what?" Koushiro seems like the only one who can find his voice.

"Time to save the Chosen you call 'Yamato' and 'Takeru.'"

That makes something in Daisuke's head click. He snaps out of his daze, even going as far as physically shaking his head to dispel the the remnants of astonishment clouding his brain.

Before he can speak, though, Hikari does: "Do you know about the monsters that took them?"

She's staring up at him with a fierceness Daisuke's rarely seen before. Another slow, owlish blink. "I do."

"What're you waiting for, then?" Daisuke says quickly. "Tell us about them!"

"Daisuke," Ken chides quietly, although he doesn't seem to be disapproving. He looks just as worried.

Qinglongmon murmurs, "I am sorry for the trouble that the Shadows have put you through. I never expected them to return."

There's a grimness in Qinglongmon's expression that makes Daisuke uneasy. He pushes that feeling back, staring up at the large dragon with fiery determination. Hears Koushiro prompt curiously, "Shadows?"

He nods. "That's what we call them, yes. They are creatures from another world that prey on vulnerable, innocent souls—mostly young children."

"Shadows," Miyako echoes flatly, saying the word with exaggerated seriousness. "What a creative name."

Daisuke cracks a tiny smirk in spite of himself. That's Miyako for you, mocking a literal digimon _god._

"Wait," Ken says, looking puzzled. Daisuke knows him well enough that he can almost see the little gears moving in his head. Rewinding. Rewinding. "You said _young_ children."

"Takeru's not a child anymore," Jou finishes, appearing equally confused.

A fleeting whisper of mirth enters Qinglongmon's gaze. It's gone the moment Ken's done talking, and his expression darkens slightly. His whole body shudders in the sky, rippling like water.

"That is correct," he says, nodding gravely. "It seems they were able to find a way back to him. They shouldn't have been able to."

"Ugh," Miyako groans, throwing her head back. "How long are you going to be mysterious? We kind of need straight answers, here." When she receives several looks of surprise, she says in defense, "What? He's the one who said we don't have a lot of time! It's like he's purposely trying to make us figure it out ourselves."

"Miyako," Hawkmon warns, pushing himself into the air to look at her disapprovingly.

"No," Qinglongmon says, shaking his head slowly. "She is right. I believe it will be easier to show you, then try to explain."

Daisuke opens his mouth to ask just what he means by that, but before he can utter a word, something in the air shifts.

It's like the world is tilting on its axis, sending everything off balance. Daisuke throws his arms out in an attempt to steady himself, eyes popping, but it doesn't matter. Moments later, everything goes white again.

The grassy floor disappears beneath the soles of his shoes. He doesn't hit the ground—in fact, his body freezes mid-fall, like he's being held up by strings. His breath leaves his lungs without his consent, and he's blinking rapidly in an attempt to see in the blinding light.

Slowly, _slowly,_ everything comes back. But as soon as he's able to actually see again, his stomach cramps up uncomfortably.

Oh, goodness, he's _floating_.

He looks down and wishes he didn't, because it sends a weird tingling sensation through his limbs. He swallows, searching for V-mon, and feels even more uneasy when he sees that his friends, along with their digimon, are airborne as well.

"What... what the heck?" he hears Taichi murmur, aghast. Similar exclamations follow his words:

"What's going on?"

"Where are we?"

"What happened to the Village of Beginnings?"

It continues like this, everyone's questions growing louder and louder until all Daisuke can hear is a blend of his friends' frantic voices. It's not until Qinglongmon speaks again that it stops.

"You can all relax," he assures, and despite the fact that the world seems to stretch out infinitely, Daisuke can't see him anywhere. It's just miles and miles of lost code. "You are safe."

"What did you do?" Mimi's voice is wobbling.

There's a pause during which all Daisuke can focus on is his thundering heartbeat. Then something below them morphs and expands. Stretching. Stretching. Before long, Daisuke finds himself looking at what appears to be a giant screen.

He blinks in confusion. Opens his mouth again to speak. The words are stolen from his lips when he sees that there's something playing on the screen—a memory, maybe?

Somewhere on his left, he hears someone gasp in horror. Taichi says, "Hey... that's us. From years ago."

"Indeed," Qinglongmon confirms.

Daisuke blinks again, commanding himself internally to focus. In moments, he realizes that his friend is right: a younger version of Taichi is sprawled out on what looks like a giant mountain. Except it's not just Taichi.

Yamato is there, along with Sora, Mimi, Jou, and Koushiro. They're all—

Daisuke feels bile rise in his throat. He has to look away, choosing to focus on the older kids with him rather than the disturbing, soundless movie playing in front of them. "Wha...? What happened to you guys?"

"Why aren't any of you moving?" Hikari asks, sounding horrified.

There is no answer. All of them are too focused on the screen. Daisuke swallows hard, face blanching as he forces himself to look back at it, too.

He's suddenly very thankful that he hadn't eaten this morning, because if he had, he's sure it out have come up in that moment.

There's a large, lanky black digimon standing over them, grinning perilously down at the motionless group below him. His wings are tattered and bony, long arms are thrown up victoriously. There are no other digimon to be found.

Child Taichi's eyes are open wide, void of life.

Child Yamato's shirt is covered in blood.

They're all unnaturally still. Silent. Not breathing.

_Dead._

The word echoes in his head before he can stop it and it only makes him want to look away again. He can't; his eyes are glued to the screen in absolute horror and disbelief. His eyes won't obey him.

"That's impossible," Koushiro finally breathes out. "H-how...?"

"We killed Devimon," Jou murmurs, denial thick in his voice. He looks around, gaze finally landing on one digimon: Tokomon. "Didn't you—?"

"Wait," Sora says. Her voice is so different than it was before—the gentle, motherly tone is long gone. Now she sounds empty. "Guys, Takeru's missing."

Slowly, Daisuke does another headcount. Koushiro. Taichi. Yamato. Jou. Sora. Mimi.

She's right. Takeru's not there.

"Where is he?" Tokomon asks tearfully. "Where is Takeru?"

The screen and endless expanse of code abruptly vanish, and the world tilts again without warning. Daisuke squeezes his eyes shut and fights back the urge to scream as he feels his body move downward. Gravity is pulling at him. He's falling.

Except he's not. There's a ground beneath him. Ropes of wind tug at his clothes, at his hair. Daisuke peels his eyes open gradually, legs buckling underneath him as he drinks in their surroundings. They're back in the Village of Beginnings.

He barely registers Elecmon's confused stammering. V-mon pats his back quietly, whispering his name. Daisuke can't respond. The image of the younger version of the older kids is engraved in his brain. It won't fade.

Qinglongmon is fluttering in the sky again, looking down at them with sad eyes. "That is what would have happened if Takeru wasn't there, as a Chosen Child. Devimon would have been successful in his quest to take over the digital world."

"I don't understand," Mimi murmurs. "Why wasn't Takeru there?"

"The Shadows chose him as a target when he was a child," he answers grimly. "As the guardians of this world, we intervened. He already had a destiny that needed to be fulfilled as the Child of Hope. Had we not... what you saw would be the ending result."

"Of course," Agumon says, nodding affirmatively. "Angemon was the one who fought Devimon!"

Koushiro looks like he's finally connecting the pieces. "That makes sense. He was the child in the prophecy at that time."

"Devimon said the smallest would destroy him," Tentomon adds, almost as an afterthought.

"Without him," Koushiro concludes, "Devimon emerged victorious."

"What? So it's like, the butterfly effect or something?" Miyako asks, looking afraid and confused simultaneously. "Takeru didn't exist, so there was no one strong enough to stop that Devimon guy? That's the catastrophic consequence?" She swallows, growing paler and paler by the second. "That's so creepy."

"What's the butterfly effect, Ken-chan?" Wormmon asks.

Ken blinks, looking down at the digimon in his arms with eyes that are soft and somber at the same time. "It's a theory that a small change can affect something much larger."

"For example, a butterfly flapping its wings in Tokyo can cause a tornado in a different part of the world," Jou adds, when some of the other digimon—including his own partner—still look confused.

"Whoa," Piyomon says, eyes wide. "Is that true, Sora?"

Daisuke doesn't really hear what she says in response. What would happen after the death of the Chosen in the older group? The haunting image of his dead teammates comes back again and won't leave. The only thing pulling him away from the Daisuke shudders visibly. This whole _day_ has been creepy.

"Hold on," Iori says faintly, his voice soft. Daisuke almost doesn't hear him, either. "How come Takeru was chosen as a target?"

"Yeah," Taichi continues. "You said they prey on children. How come he was the only one, out of all of us?"

Another pause. Qinglongmon blinks again, looking thoughtful. "The Child of Hope and the Child of Friendship were separated when they were young, were they not?"

Confusion is what breaks Daisuke free from his daze. He finally feels V-mon's claw on his back. Feels his fingers pulse with pain from his burns. Finally finds his voice. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"The Shadows seemed to be able to know that that would happen," Qinglongmon replies. "They prey specifically on children from broken homes because they sense the feelings of loneliness and confusion building in the child. This makes them easier to manipulate."

"What do you mean... prey?" Ken asks.

"They feed on the innocence of young children." He blinks, and it's unnerving that he says this without so much as changing his expression. "It is what gives them their strength."

"...that's awful," Mimi whispers, a hand covering her mouth.

Another dreadful silence flows over them. Daisuke feels angry suddenly, because goodness, this is _so messed up._ Nobody gets to pick their family. Nobody picks their starting place. It's kind of sick, in a way. Takeru was targeted because of reasons he can't control. Who takes advantage over a kid's feelings like that?

It's Iori who breaks the ice, coming back with another question: "Why did they come back? After all this time? Why couldn't either of them remember?"

" _I'd_ certainly remember if a creepy monster gave me headaches and tried to abduct me," Miyako says, the sass returning to her voice.

"I can't say for certain," Qinglongmon says, releasing a soft breath that's like a faint breeze on Daisuke's skin. "But my best guess is that the Shadows wiped their memories to protect themselves. Usually, once the child has successfully been lured away from a family, they also feed on the memories of that child's existence."

"I get it," Koushiro says, a finger now curled underneath his chin contemplatively. "If no one remembers that the child existed in the first place, then they won't question why they suddenly disappeared."

"Maybe that's why Takeru has had so many headaches," Gabumon murmurs tentatively. "Maybe seeing the Shadows triggered something in his brain."

"But Yamato didn't have any headaches, and his memory was erased, too," Tokomon argues. "And the entire time Takeru was with Yamato, he didn't have any headaches."

"He's resilient, that one," Qinglongmon quips, nodding sagely. "The Child of Friendship. The bond between him and the Child of Hope is strong. Perhaps it is his wish to protect the Child of Hope that kept the Shadows at bay."

"He's an older brother," Taichi says, casting a meaningful look in Hikari's direction.

For the first time since Takeru and Yamato mysteriously disappeared, Daisuke sees Hikari smile. It's small, albeit genuine. Her eyes sparkle as she looks back at Taichi. She squeezes Takeru's D3 almost reassuringly, something that surprises Daisuke. He all but forgot that she had picked it up.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Daisuke wonders how Jun would react if he just suddenly vanished.

That thought immediately scatters in his brain as he catches the fleeting look of longing on Ken's face. He's not sure if anyone else sees it, and instinct drives him to walk over to his best friend. Throws an arm around Ken's shoulder. Tries very hard not to think about the pain in his other hand.

Ken shoots Daisuke a perplexed look, but it melts into a smile. A smile which soon fades as he glances back up at Qinglongmon. "Why can't you fight back?"

"Yeah," Miyako adds, frowning. "You fought them the first time, didn't you? You're a _god._ You should be able to kick their butts!"

This time, Qinglongmon looks inexplicably closed-off. Daisuke thinks fleetingly that he won't give an answer, but then he murmurs, "The first time we encountered the Shadows, we broke the rules by attacking out of boundaries. We are not supposed to leave this world, you see. But we did, and that weakened the line between the digital world, the planet Earth, and the Shadow realm. This could explain why the Shadows were able to follow the Child of Hope to this world, which was originally inaccessible to them through normal means. If someone of my power crosses that line again... there could be dangerous consequences."

Once again, everyone falls quiet as the words sink in. Daisuke doesn't release Ken; instead, his grip tightens.

"What do we do?" he asks, looking up at Qinglongmon with that same spark of determination from earlier. "To get Takeru and Yamato back?"

Qinglongmon pauses. "It will be dangerous."

"They're our teammates," Taichi says, crossing his arms. "We've got to fight for them."

"We have to see why the Shadows have returned," Gabumon adds. He walks over to Yamato's discarded digivice, taking it gently in his hands. "We have to save them."

A nod. Qinglongmon inhales quietly, and exhales: another gentle breeze. "The presence of the Shadows is lingering. I can sense them. If I can track it down, I would be able to guide you into the Shadow Realm. But I do not know how you will be able to return."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Daisuke says. He turns to Taichi this time, seeking approval. "Right?"

Taichi grins.

"While we wait on Qinglongmon to track it," Elecmon says, speaking for the first time since they returned to the Village of Beginnings, "why don't you tend to the babies while I catch some fish? I'll hurry, and you guys need your strength."

Despite not eating all day, Daisuke feels queasy at the idea of food—which is odd, because that rarely happens. He internally shakes himself, knowing that Elecmon is right. They can't battle unprepared.

They're going to need everyone at full strength for this fight.


	12. Soundless Storm

**Ch 11 || Soundless Storm**

[date: unknown; time: unknown]

Takeru has lost track of how long he and his brother have been walking.

It seems like they've been wandering around for hours, but he has no way to tell. No clock. No sun. Just an endless stretch of threatening storm clouds and colorful lightning, accompanied by not-thunder that shakes the ground enough to make Takeru almost lose his balance.

His body is so worn out. His legs ache from walking so much, and from his run this morning with Daisuke. Hunger pangs rattle through his stomach, becoming more and more frequent and painful as they continue their trek through this weird city. His chest is sore from the tattoo his erratic heartbeat has created. The burns on his body are becoming increasingly noticeable with each step, but he knows that stopping to take a break isn't an option.

He's also incredibly conscious of the eyes that seem to be following him and his brother, unmoving from the windows of each building.

Yamato keeps looking back at him as if checking to make sure he hasn't disappeared. But it's obvious that both of them are moving slower than when they started. Since the world is void of all sound, it's hard not to pick up on the way Yamato's breath has gotten heavier.

Never before has Takeru felt so vulnerable and defenseless. He wishes HolyAngemon were with him, not only because it would give them a fighting chance, but also because he misses his partner dearly. It's weird to go from constantly being around Patamon to not being around him at all. Especially when he knows his friends are most likely panicking right now.

Takeru frowns at the thought, fighting back a wince. "Nii-san?"

"Hmm?"

"What do you think our friends are doing?" he wonders, looking up at his brother.

A humorless, breathless laugh. "Probably freaking the hell out, that's what."

"That's what I thought, too," he mumbles, shoulders slumping.

"Actually, knowing them," Yamato continues suddenly, "they're probably looking for a way to find us."

"You think so?"

"Remember when we all got separated before we fought Devimon?" Yamato asks, meeting Takeru's eyes. When Takeru nods, he says, "Taichi found me first. As soon as he heard that I was close to him, he didn't hesitate to look for me." He releases another hollow chuckle. "I mean, it wasn't completely perfect. The reunion was far from heartwarming. We got into this huge fight. But my point is... he found a way to get to me and reassure me that we'd all become a group again. I bet they're finding a way now."

Takeru is quiet, but he smiles fondly at the thought of Taichi going to great lengths to piece his team back together. He thinks of Hikari, of Daisuke, and how worried they were for him when they found out about the monsters chasing him.

A part of him is touched, but the familiar feeling of guilt rages through, stealing his smile, and he's reminded that it's his fault everyone is in this mess. What if they get hurt? What if something happens? He shivers at the idea.

Yamato notices immediately. "What's wrong? Are you cold?"

"I'm tired," Takeru confesses, swallowing hard. "And worried. And... yeah, I'm cold."

Yamato's smirk doesn't seem like much of a smirk at all. He sighs, beckoning for him to come closer. "I know, bud. C'mere."

Takeru obeys, melting as Yamato's arm slings around him, exceedingly careful of his neck and shoulder. Releases a shuddering breath as Yamato presses his cheek to the top of Takeru's head. Soaks this moment up for all it is worth, wishing he has the power to make it freeze because not moving is dangerous but also moving is dangerous because those eyes are following their _every move—_

"Hey," Yamato murmurs when Takeru's breath becomes fragmented and without rhythm. They're already tired and worrying isn't making it any better, but Takeru can't help it. Yamato adds, "We'll continue taking one step at a time. Just like we've been doing. Ok?"

Lightning flashes and the world shifts from sickening green to a soft purple. Takeru closes his eyes but the colors are burned unbidden to the backs of his eyelids.

"I... I thought we'd never have to do this again," he admits, quiet, like a hushed breeze. "Walking aimlessly, not knowing where we were going. I... I thought that we were passed that. That we'd figured out the majority of the digital world. And then _this..._ " His voice falters and breaks, breath picking up speed again. "I don't even know what to do about this. It feels like we've been walking for hours."

"I know," Yamato repeats into his hair, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. He inhales slowly, looking ready to say something else, but before he does, Takeru feels something cold touch his cheek. Like a raindrop.

He blinks his eyes open, startled, and pulls away from his brother to look up at the sky above them.

"What the hell?"

It's Yamato who says it, not Takeru. This coaxes him to look back at Yamato, all confusion and fatigue and wonder.

Yamato's finger brushes against his cheek and Takeru can feel his heart trying to climb out of his throat.

Because there, on Yamato's skin, is a streak of purple, thick and wet like fresh paint. Takeru's eyes pop, his own hand coming up to his face, but all that does is smear it across his skin. It definitely _feels_ like a raindrop, but Takeru's never seen rain that color before.

His eyes widen even further when another drop hits Yamato's brow. Rolls down his cheek like a tear.

"It's on me, too, isn't it?" Yamato whispers, low and afraid. It's not a tone he's used to hearing from Yamato.

"Um," Takeru says, fumbling, because the first thing he wants to do is make sure Yamato never, ever sounds like that again. But he can't lie. Not when the evidence is right in front of them. So he swallows the hysteria threatening to choke him and nods, shakily and slowly. "...yeah, Nii-san. It is."

Yamato's gaze drifts skyward, and Takeru watches his expression grow heavier and heavier with fear and unease. When he looks back down at Takeru, there's a grim determination in his eyes, pushed past the dread like he doesn't want Takeru to know that he's scared.

"We have to find shelter," he says with an affirmative nod. "And fast."

Lightning illuminates the world again. It's red this time.

Takeru glances apprehensively toward the collection of buildings they've spent so much time trying to get away from. There are so many shadows in the windows, and despite how much distance they've put between themselves and the buildings, the creatures look larger. Closer. As though they are ready to climb out of the glass and run towards them with inhuman speed, eyes luminous and unearthly, glowing like ship lights in the sea.

"It looks like they're all full of them," Takeru says.

"There's got to be _someplace_ that's empty," Yamato argues. "We've got—"

Another drop falls on Takeru's arm. Rolls. Rolls. Takeru's eyes fall unbidden on the liquid, and his stomach clenches with nausea. It looks disturbingly similar to that of human blood.

"Nii-san—"

"Don't." The word is said softly, wavering unsteadily. "I already know."

There it is again. That awful, awful terror that doesn't belong on his brother's face or in his voice. And Takeru wishes, not for the first time, that he could make things better.

Because here Yamato is, trying to make _Takeru_ feel better. Telling him to keep his head up. Holding him like a small child when he needs it. But Takeru's brutally reminded, at this moment, that Yamato is just a kid, too. Not even four years older than him. It's not fair to hold him on such a high pedestal. Of course he's afraid.

An odd feeling settles deep in Takeru's bones. No. This has to stop. He got Yamato into this, even if it was accidentally. He needs to step up, smother his own fears, and show his brother that they're going to get through this. They always have.

"Hey," he echoes, steeling his resolve. "Nii-san. We haven't lost yet."

Yamato freezes. Then, slowly, emptily, he smiles again. Nods. "Yeah. You're right."

Takeru ignores the ache in his legs as he takes another step forward, as careful and as steady as he can manage, and waits for Yamato do to the same. Then they're peering around the corner, and Takeru looks up at the building closest to them.

Feels more red drops hit his skin. Ignores them.

Inhales sharply.

"Nii-san," he repeats, reaching up to give Yamato's sleeve a harsh tug and pointing with his other hand. "Up there."

It's a smaller building, one that looks like an apartment complex, maybe big enough to fit nine or ten flats. It looks a little old, but not too run-down. Like it had been frozen in time a decade or two ago.

Yamato starts to follow his gaze but becomes momentarily distracted when the lightning above them changes from red to blue again. Not-thunder makes the ground quake and his grip on Yamato's sleeve tightens.

The not-rain steadily picks up, eliciting several shivers from Takeru. He's never been good at handling the cold, especially when it's raining. Still, even as it begins to pour, there is no sound. No sound at all.

"I don't see anything in that one," he points out when Yamato doesn't speak. "What do you think?"

"...I don't see anything, either," Yamato says. "Let's check it out."

"We'll have to be careful, though," Takeru warns quietly. "It could be a trap."

It's true. Years of experience have told him that they shouldn't trust anything that's empty, no matter how inviting or welcoming it seems on the outside.

Except there is nothing in this strange world that strikes Takeru inviting or welcoming. His body, however, is screaming for a place to rest. It burns and aches and aches and burns. Walking into a trap might be their only option, lest they sit out in the storm and freeze to death.

"We could use a rest," Yamato says eventually as if reading his mind, but the look he casts Takeru is full of wary and concern. "But you have to promise to stay close to me."

"I promise," Takeru murmurs. "Let's go. Those eyes are freaking me out."

"You and me both, Teek."

By the time they reach the front of the building, both of them are almost soaked, looking like they got into a paintball fight. It would have been comical on any other day, but right now, it just makes Takeru restless. Earlier, while it had been dark, it was easier to hide their presence. Now they stick out like somebody laughing during a funeral.

The door creaks when Yamato pushes it open and Takeru flinches at the sound, borderline freezing from the colorful not-rain. He does his best to ignore it, stumbling with his brother to the steps that lay mere feet away. Then they're sinking down to it, and Takeru suppresses a whimper. Never has been this thankful to sit down.

"This reminds me of all the times Mimi would complain that her feet were hurting, back when we first went to the digital world," Yamato says, rubbing an eye with his thumb.

"I don't blame her," Takeru murmurs. "My feet are killing me. We should wait a little bit before we try to go up the stairs."

"Agreed."

There's a long pause that stretches for minutes. Takeru quakes and quakes as he tries to catch his breath, heavy-lidded eyes taking in their messy wet footprints. He almost wonders what'll happen once they're dry. Will it crust over on their skin like actual paint? Will it disappear? A glance down at his clothes makes him wince again. He hopes it won't stain.

"We left a nice little trail for them to follow," Takeru mutters finally, trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

"At this point, I don't even care," Yamato replies, shaking his head. "Anything is better than being out there."

Takeru hums. That's reasonable. His legs are pulled up to his chest, and achingly slowly, he rests his chin on his knees. This time, his wince is brought into existence because of pain. His neck _hurts._ He doesn't know why it's worse than his shoulder, but it is. His head throbs. Now that he's actually sitting down, everything feels sharper. All the pain. The bitter cold. Maybe it has something to do with his adrenaline wearing off.

It's fading fast. He's crashing, sinking deeper and deeper into the realm of absolute exhaustion, with nothing to ground him into the present. He's so tired. He thinks he'll sleep for days when this is over.

It'd be so easy. Maybe he'd feel better. Maybe...

"Buddy," Yamato says, and he sounds like he's whispering, but when he blinks his eyes open and sees Yamato's urgent expression, he wonders if it is just him. Did he really doze off that quickly?

"Hmm?"

"I know that you want to sleep, but..." Yamato pauses. "It's not safe yet. We should wait a little bit, just in case."

Takeru sighs shudderingly. "You're right."

He sits up, once again trying to move as carefully as possible so he won't hurt himself even more. Yamato's hand hovers by his arm, ready to help if needed. Murmurs, "Steady, steady..." And then, hesitantly: "Stay right here. I'm gonna check the doors over"—he gestures with his thumb at the two doors adjacent to the staircase—"there."

Takeru nods, eyes never leaving his brother as Yamato stands. Walks over to the first door. Jostles it. It doesn't open.

He tries the other door. Same results.

Takeru feels a little queasy as he tries the opposite side, only to find that they're locked, too.

"Should we... should we go upstairs now?" he asks softly when Yamato comes back to him.

Yamato hesitates. "I'm not sure. If these ones are locked, the others are probably locked as well. You think you can make it up there?"

"No," Takeru admits, sighing again. "But it's not like we have a choice. We should see what's up there."

_Hopefully, it's absolutely empty._

He doesn't say that part out loud, half-because he knows it will make Yamato uneasy, and half-because it will make him uneasy. They push themselves to their feet nonetheless, and Takeru stares at the top of the staircase like it's some hindering, impassable obstacle course.

He's thankful there's a railing. He's not sure of when the last time stairs have seemed this difficult.

Yamato's hand glides slowly up the railing, and Takeru's thankful that for the other hand that rests on the small of his back as they venture up the steps, one at a time. Gently. Cautiously. Like their legs are made of glass.

Everything really, really hurts.

Gradually, _gradually,_ they make it the second floor. Takeru pauses for an embarrassingly long time to catch his breath, but Yamato doesn't say a word. Maybe that's because Yamato needs to stop for a breather, too.

A full minute passes before Takeru takes it upon himself to check the first door. He inches his way to the closest one, and Yamato is right beside him, mouth open to tell him to stop and—

"It's not locked," Takeru says, eyes wide with disbelief.

"That's not creepy at all," Yamato mutters. Then: "Alright. Let's—wait, Takeru. No. I'll go first. You stay behind me."

Takeru frowns, but the sudden shift in Yamato's voice coaxes him to obey. He steps back, watching apprehensively as Yamato turns the doorknob and pushes it open, peering through with an even split of curiosity and caution.

"I... I think it's clear," he informs Takeru, pushing the door open even wider. His voice is still a whisper when he says, "We should still be quiet, though. Just in case."

"Right," Takeru murmurs with a nod.

As they make their way inside, Takeru is conscious of every breath, of every sloshy footfall, of every creeking sound the floor makes. One of Yamato's hand stays wrapped around his wrist as they walk, and Takeru isn't certain of when Yamato last looked so on-edge.

The flat is relatively tiny, probably built to house a single person. There's a small kitchen, one bedroom with a closet, a bathroom, and a balcony. To their surprise, everything is spotless, like someone had just tidied it up the day before. There are no signs of abandonment or age.

Takeru doesn't know what he would have preferred. It would have been strange or even unsettling if they stumbled upon a messy apartment, but this one doesn't seem lived-in at all. There are no dishes in the sink. There's a folded up shikibuton in the closet, ready to be used. There's not even a speck of dust to be found.

It strikes him, now, how much of a gamble it is to hide inside this building. It doesn't even matter that they're sneaking around because their clothes are still dripping wet—they're leaving tracks everywhere they go. While it's true that they're now sheltered from the storm, they very well could be walking into a trap. Where will they go if they see one of those shadow creatures? Takeru's energy is borderline nonexistent, every ounce sucked dry from him by their trek across the city. How will they escape?

It takes a lot of willpower not to shudder at the thought.

He sags with relief when Yamato says, "The whole place is empty."

"I don't know what's worse," Takeru mumbles, allowing himself to sink down to the immaculate floor. Doesn't pay any attention to the fact that he's just ruined with his soaked clothes. Droplets of not-rain cascade down his skin, hitting the floor in tiny, muted splashes. "The fact that this whole world is void of sound, or that it's void of human life. Or even digimon. I could handle a digimon."

"Yeah," Yamato murmurs but doesn't add anything else.

Takeru glances up at him. He still looks uncertain.

"Nii-san."

"Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

Yamato heaves a weary sigh. At first, he looks like he might tell Takeru what's truly bothering him, and whatever it is, Takeru knows it's not good. But instead, he just says grumpily, "This shit better wash out of my hair."

Takeru can't help it. Laughter bubbles up out of his throat, croaky but unrestrained, and he laughs and laughs until he has to force himself to stop because air is needed for his survival. His cheeks are pink when the giggles _do_ stop, and when he finally gazes back at Yamato, he sees that the corners of his mouth are twitching as if he is trying to suppress a smile.

"That _is_ something you'd worry about," Takeru says eventually, breathlessly.

And it comes to his attention how completely ridiculous they look. Red. Blue. Purple. Green. They're like human rainbows. Like young children who got ahold of gallons of paint and decided to take a bath in it.

"Imagine," Yamato says dryly with a now deadpan expression, "what my bandmates are going to say."

"Maybe they'll kick you out."

"Wha—Takeru!"

Despite his exhaustion, despite his aches and pains, he bestows his brother with the cheekiest, most innocent smile he can muster. "I love you."

"Yeah. Sure you do." But he starts to smile as he says the words.

They descend into silence again, with the only sound lingering between them being their breathing. Takeru's is choppier in comparison to Yamato's, given his sudden spell of laughter.

Takeru wonders idly if the storm is still raging on or if it has stopped. He's too tired to find a window to check, but the usual pitter-patter of rain that he's used to hearing during a storm is not present. There's no other way to tell.

It must have shown on Takeru's face, because Yamato abruptly prompts, "What?"

"Nothing... I was just wondering if it was still raining." He winces as he sits up again, refraining from rubbing his neck. Maybe moving is still a bad idea. "I guess we're safe here, for now, but... I was just curious."

Yamato's lips purse into a thin line. Vigilantly, he pushes himself off the wall he's leaning against, making his way toward the nearest window. This time, Takeru remains still, ears tracking each of Yamato's footsteps.

Until he catches a glimpse of something dark out of the corner of his eye.

Takeru's breath hitches and he warns himself not to fully look. Because looking will lead to seeing something he doesn't want to see. Something that they just spent so much time running away from, seeking safety in this building that's too clean, too quiet.

_Don't look._

_Don't look._

_You can do anything just... just_ don't look.

"Nii-san—"

Takeru looks.

His voice dies, muted like someone had pressed a button on a television remote. It's a long, full-body mirror that's hanging on the wall from the floor up, opposite of him. But the reflection he sees doesn't belong to him.

It's a smaller version of himself. Like he's four years old all over again. But there are ominous, iridescent jewels where his eyes should be, and there are shadows dancing and swaying all around his figure, like flickering candle lights. Shadows that look ready to crawl right out of the mirror so they can consume him. There are dark, spiderweb-like patterns on his neck. On his shoulder.

Right where Takeru's burns are located.

Takeru doesn't move. Doesn't say a word. His reflection murmurs, "Hello."

_"Hello."_

Suddenly Takeru is back in Ken's blue-tinted bedroom, staring into the wide, pearlesque eyes of a machinelike creature draped in shadows similar to this one. But his reflection does not sound robotic at all. It's sickeningly sweet, dripping with poison-laced honey. And gone is that childlike fascination; it sounds like it's ready to cause destruction. Speaks in full, flawless sentences with no effort at all.

Takeru tries to respond. His lips won't move.

Then his reflection says, "Remember me?"

_"...remember... me...?"_

A whimper crawls up his throat but remains behind his lips like a cowering child. His eyes are bulging and growing wider still, and he's internally screaming for Yamato to help him, to snap him out of it, to save him, _please—_

Takeru's head pounds and pounds. His body is frozen in place. His reflection leans forward.

"I remember you," it says, with a sinister grin that leaves Takeru shuddering as if he's back in the cold not-rain storm.

_"I remember you."_

Takeru swallows. Swallows again. He quakes and twitches, trying to move. To speak. No part of his body will obey. He feels like he's caught in a spell of sleep paralysis.

_What do you want with me?_

"You're going to be our leader," it replies as if Takeru had spoken out loud. "You're the oldest. You'll be the most powerful."

There's another pause during which Takeru just stares in rapidly increasing horror. This thing looks nothing like him, and yet it is him. Unlike the rest of the shadow creatures, this one is wearing actual clothes. His hair is the same shade of blond as Takeru's, looking disturbingly like a golden halo compared to the inky dark shadows swimming elatedly around him.

Takeru is soaked to the bone with colorful not-rain.

His reflection is completely dry.

The raised, web-like patterns are now snaking down his reflection's arms. Across its fingers. Up its neck, dancing across its cheeks like sickening tattoos. Its hands come up to touch its cheek as it says, "Why do you look so disgusted? You've already been marked. This is what you'll look like soon."

Takeru's stomach cramps up painfully. His fingers jerk. _Why me?_

Its grin expands until it's shark-like, unnatural and filled with malicious intent. Not an expression Takeru would ever wish to see on a small child. "Because," his reflection continues airily, hand coming back down to rest on the floor, "you escaped. Our food never escapes. Naturally, we had to come back and claim what is ours."

_I don't belong to you,_ he thinks.

"Of course you do," his reflection quips. "We claimed your innocence when you were a little human. Unlike most humans, your innocence is still there, even though you're so much bigger. It's why we are able to track you down and come back to you."

It feels so, so wrong to be hearing this from someone— _something_ , Takeru corrects himself—who looks so much younger than him. The longer he's trapped in this paralytic state, the more intense his wounds become. His burns on his neck and shoulder feel like they're bone-deep. His head hurts so badly that he wishes someone would just walk up to him and knock him out.

"And anyway," his reflection continues as if this is a normal, everyday conversation, "we've got you right where we want you. We're very hungry. It took a lot of energy to reach your world. They're all waiting for you to accept our offer."

Takeru almost doesn't want to ask. But alongside the terror flowing through him is a morbid sense of curiosity. He has to know.

_What offer?_

"To be our leader," it answers. "I said it already, didn't I?"

_But why are you asking?_ Maybe it's insane to think that, but it doesn't make sense. _It's not like you asked before._

"We didn't need to ask to pull you into our world." It stops, considering. "That took a lot of energy, too, you know. But we've never tried to feed on an older human. It would be easier to consume you if you accepted our offer."

Another pause follows its confession as the words sink into Takeru's brain. So they need Takeru's permission in order to act because they've used up all their energy. That, at least, makes a tiny bit of sense.

(Not.)

Why in the world would he accept, anyway? Why would he want to become a creepy hell-creature? Takeru thinks, with every bit of defiance that he can muster, _And if I refuse?_

Its mouth twitches, foretelling an annoyed frown. "We might have to use force."

Something about the way his reflection says it makes a shiver crawl down the base of his spine. Its tone is dark and threaded with insanity. Despite the fact keeps saying it lacks power, there is absolutely no denying that it will follow through with that threat.

It's not giving Takeru a choice to accept at all.

It's asking just to humor him.

"You should be honored, considering you'll be our first," it continues, all sinister smiles and gleaming eyes again. Like the threat doesn't hang heavy in the air. "That's why you could be our leader."

_Why do you want me so badly?_ Takeru thinks. _What'll happen if... I accept?_

" _When_ you accept," it says, putting extra emphasis on that one word, "we'll be able to hunt other humans your age. Maybe even older. Like that pesky brother of yours. Quite annoying, that one."

Takeru's blood freezes in his veins. His eyes are widening again, unable to do anything other than stare. _What have you done to him?_

"We haven't done anything to him... yet." It leans forward as if it's getting ready to tell him a secret. "He can't see you right now because you're talking to me. For some reason, he has been able to repel us. At first, we didn't have enough strength to get past that. But now... he has been marked, too. All because he wants to save you."

Dread fills him, as quick and powerful as water coursing through a river. This _can't_ be happing. Not to Yamato. Not his Onii-san.

_So... he's going to suffer... the same fate as me?_

"Silly human." It tsks, wagging a finger at him. The shadows around it twitch and wiggle excitedly. "You won't be suffering. As soon as you are turned, you won't feel a thing."

_Turned... into what?_

"A Shadow."

Takeru wants to wipe that stupid, stupid smirk right of its face. He wants to fight, to scream, to do _something_ other than gawk like a deer in headlights. But he can't say a word. He can't move but he so desperately wants to.

"We'll turn you both into Shadows," it persists gleefully, "and then we won't have to hide anymore. We'll have enough power to take over your world. We won't have to wait to feed. We could eat whenever we want."

_You can't,_ Takeru thinks in denial. _People will know. People will look for us._

"But they won't. All we have to do is"—it makes a popping sound—"wipe their memories of your existence. That's how we have remained undetected all this time. We've taken so many children and nobody remembers. Nobody remembers a thing. Not even you."

_Me?_

"Yes," it says, scowling again like it has been offended. "I told you... you were able to escape. Those stupid creatures got in the way of our meal. We were compromised, forced into hiding without food."

Takeru waits for more of an explanation. For further elaboration. But nothing comes, not at first.

Then it moves again, standing effortlessly and gracefully. Takeru remains immobilized on the floor.

"We can't wait any longer. We need food _now._ "

_Run,_ Takeru's mind screams.

His reflection chuckles, sharp and ghostly. It takes a single step forward. "You can't."

He wishes. He wishes, wishes, _wishes_ he could get up and run. But just like in Ken's bedroom, just like in the library, just like every other time he's seen these terrifying creatures, he's paralyzed. He can only watch as it takes another step forward.

Can only watch as it takes another, and another, and another.

Can only watch as its hands reach forward.

Can only watch as its fingers phase right through the mirror, and its wrists, and its arms. Its shoulders. Its head. It's moving through the mirror as if it's a doorway, diamond eyes glowing.

Then it doesn't look like Takeru at _all._ The raised black markings on its arms slither up and down its body, undulating, spewing out of its skin like black flames. It just keeps getting bigger, bigger, bigger, as it closes the distance between them. Looks ready to cradle him like a mother holding her child.

_This is it,_ Takeru thinks, as the burning sensation in his neck and shoulder starts to fade, and numbness crawls down his body like a spider. Darkness chews on his vision. _I'm going to die here._

His eyes close on their own accord. A sob inches up his throat. Waits. Waits.

And then, finally, _finally_ , sound echoes around him.

"Get your slimy, filthy freaking hands _off_ him!"

"Air shot!"

"Petit fire!"

The mirror shatters.


	13. Red Skies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is greatly appreciated. 💖

**Ch 12 || Red Skies**

[time: unknown; date: unknown]

Tiny glass pieces scatter over the floor like loose flower petals in the wind, and a primal shriek resonates through the air as the Shadow disappears in a puff of black smoke, floating up, up, up. It's gone in moments.

Then somebody else is screaming. Shouting. Shouting for _him._

Takeru blinks, finally able to move again. Except someone else does it for him—two strong hands lift him off the floor, away from the mess of broken glass. Relief shoots through him like water as he draws in breath after shuddering breath like he's just realized that breathing is a thing that is possible.

Another arm circles around him.

"—here. You're _here._ God, Teek, I th-thought—"

Yamato sounds like he's crying. His voice is a broken little thing, quivering and sputtering. Takeru chokes on another gasp that's too similar to a sob, and he's disoriented and dizzy but so very thankful for Yamato's presence. And then it comes to his attention that they're not alone—those attacks had come from their digimon partners, who weren't here ten minutes ago.

He also realizes that it had been Taichi who pulled him away from the glass.

"Wh-what's going on?" he whispers, gaze skittering over the group of hysterical, panting people in the room. He sees the vague outlines of his friends. "H-how...?"

He trails off as he catches a glimpse of Yamato's other hand, the one that's lying limp against the floor. If he hadn't known any better, he would have thought that Yamato had broken it. It suddenly seems too dim in here, like all the traces of light have been snuffed from the flat. It's hard to even see the colorful not-rain. Barely registers the fact that his friends are covered in it, too.

It seems like his brother is wounded and Takeru has to remind himself that the Shadow had burned him hours ago. Still, it seems so dark...

"Keru," Yamato repeats, taking his chin in his unscathed hand and forcing him to meet his gaze. "It doesn't matter right now, ok? What matters is that you're here and alive and that thing is _gone._ "

"Um, Yamato?" Daisuke's voice says hesitantly. Meekly. "I, uh, hate to be the one to say this, but it kind of does matter."

"Shush," Yamato hisses sharply. "I'm not in the mood."

Confusion settles deep within Takeru, bleeding through his skin and into muscle and bone. Because ten minutes ago, both he and his brother had been wondering how they were going to get out of here, much less contact any of their friends. The last thing he'd expected was for his friends to come to his rescue.

He can't quite complain, though. Not when death was looking him right in the face barely a minute ago. Another wave of relief splinters through him alongside the confusion, because how his friends got here has to be their way out, right? Right?

The ashen, uncertain expressions etched across his teammates' faces tells him otherwise. He can't see all of them; there's not enough light. He doesn't like that it's suddenly so dark in here.

Takeru swallows with difficulty, slowly looking back at his brother. Murmurs, "I'm ok now, Nii-san. I promise."

"I turned my back for one second," Yamato continues as if he doesn't hear him at all. His voice is haunted. Strained. " _One second._ And suddenly you were gone."

"I'm sorry," he chokes out, still unable to speak above a whisper.

Yamato's grip only tightens. Like he's let go too many times in the past and he's refusing to make that mistake again. Takeru swallows again anxiously, trying really hard not to think about his burns because Yamato's arm is so close to—

Except... wait.

Takeru blinks and blinks again. His neck, his shoulder... they don't hurt anymore. In fact, his body feels strangely numb. Like someone has sucked the pain right out of his wounds.

Somehow, that leaves him feeling cold. Relief and confusion give way to dread, and his breath hitches in his throat. The mirror is gone now, laying in sharp, dangerous pieces on the wooden floor. Even if he wants to, he can't turn around and look. He doesn't know if the burns are still there.

"Nii-san?" he says, the name falling from his lips like a hushed breath.

Yamato doesn't respond. He's short of hyperventilating, still holding him like he hasn't seen him in years.

"Nii-san," Takeru repeats, this time more urgent. "Is... is it gone?"

It's Patamon who answers him, all wide-eyed bewilderment and crippling concern. "Is what gone, Takeru?"

"The marks," he croaks out. "I... I can't feel them anymore. They don't burn. Tell me if they're gone, please."

There's a pause. Patamon pushes himself into the air, and Gabumon shuffles closer. There are footsteps echoing around them, telling him his friends are walking closer to him. Finally, _finally_ , Yamato pulls away to examine his wounds.

He doesn't like the sound of Yamato's gasp.

"What?" His voice is stitched hastily with hysteria. "Nii-san, what is it?"

He almost flinches when fingers dust over his skin, where his burn is. Or, rather, _was_. Takeru only feels the pressure. No pain. Like old scar tissue.

"Somebody, please," Takeru pleads eventually, trying not to panic, "tell me what's wrong. And how many people are here? I—I can't see much. I just want to know what's going on."

Somebody clears their throat. Then, hesitantly: "Um, I can't see your skin, Takeru, but it's me, Hikari. Not all of us are in here—Sora and the others are standing guard outside the building, making sure nothing gets in. They're fighting of the Shadows. It's just me, Koushiro, Nii-san, Daisuke, you, and Yamato."

His heart beats faster in his chest. Pounds and pounds until it's rumbling a thunderstorm inside his body, making up for the lack of sound outside these walls. Takeru bites his lip nervously, trying to make out more faces in the small crowd. Still, all he can see are vague outlines of human bodies that he now knows are Koushiro, Daisuke, and Hikari. Taichi and Yamato are closest to him. Takeru catches a glimpse of eyes that glow in the dark—but not the ones that follow his every move. The eyes belong to Tailmon. Their partners must all be in here, then.

"Takeru..." Yamato hedges, his voice strained again. "There's something... that thing... it _did_ something to you."

If possible, Takeru feels even worse. His heart is pounding so loudly it's a wonder Yamato doesn't hear it. He _did_ ask, after all. Prompts, as slow as he can, "What... what do you mean?"

"Ok, we need some source of light in here," Taichi says before Yamato can answer. "Patamon and Gabumon's attacks did something. When the mirror broke, all the lights went out."

"It's... it's eerie that they were even on in the first place," Koushiro says contemplatively. "Did you two turn them on when you got here?"

Takeru thinks back, squishing his panic and willing his heart to be still. Come to think of it... the lights hadn't been on at all when they got here. Like there was no electricity at all. But it doesn't make any sense as to why they suddenly can't see _now_ if there were no lights to begin with.

"Forget this," Daisuke grumbles. "I'm checkin' the place for a flashlight."

"You won't find anything," Yamato mutters, just loud enough for him to hear. "Already looked."

Daisuke freezes. "Even the cupboards?"

"Empty."

"Well, that's just great."

"I... I can create some fire for a source of light," Agumon says quietly, but helpfully.

"That'd work if we were outside," Taichi says regretfully. "We'd need some way to contain it. If you try to use your flames, you might burn the place down. But good thinking."

He adds the last part probably to ease Agumon's guilt because he looks down in disappointment when Taichi speaks. Takeru glances around again, but he's not sure what he's looking for.

"Wait," he whispers, suddenly caught on Hikari's words from earlier. He's pulled back to them like they're made of string. "You said that the others are... outside? How did you get here? Is everyone ok? Is—"

"Hey, whoa, slow down," Taichi says, a hand coming down to rest on his bicep. "Everyone's fine. We'll explain in just a little bit, we just... we want to make sure that _you two_ are ok, first and foremost."

"I'll be fine once we're out of this hell hole and my brother is one-hundred and ten percent _safe_ ," Yamato hisses, giving Taichi an icy look.

Takeru stiffens, nervously chewing on the inside of his cheek. Much as he hates to admit it, he isn't sure when that will be. It's been weeks since Takeru truly felt safe. It's been weeks since he felt like he could relax fully. If what Hikari says is true—and he has no reason to doubt her word—then Sora and the rest of their friends are out fighting, but how long can they last? When he was outside walking with his brother, there was a Shadow in almost every window. There were so many buildings full of them. How can they stand a chance against so many? They're totally outnumbered.

"Can you please..." Takeru draws in a short scratch of breath, trying to even out the obvious waver in his voice. "...just tell us what happened? In the digital world, after Nii-san and I... woke up here?"

For a few moments, there's only silence. It makes his heart drop, rolling like loose pebbles down a cliff. Takeru's sure it won't be long before the landslide starts.

Koushiro's the one who finally speaks, his voice cutting through the tension, but even as tells their story, the tension just keeps coming back. He and Yamato learn about Quinglongmon, and how he protected him when they were children. How he couldn't travel into this world and fight because it would cause an imbalance in the digital world.

Daisuke chimes in, too, and Takeru's breath catches when he hears that Daisuke got hurt while trying to snap him out of the spell the Shadow put him under just before he was dragged out of the digital world. Daisuke says it doesn't hurt that much, but Takeru can't see how big or bad the burn really is. Can't tell if he's saying it to make him feel better. Can only imagine that it mirrors the one on Yamato's hand.

Hikari and Taichi speak up, too. Since Taichi is close to him, he can somewhat study his face as he talks. The way he trails off and picks up again makes his heart stutter. There's something missing in this story. Something that Taichi and Hikari want so badly to be skipped over. Something they're not telling him. Like there's something they don't want him to know.

"Stop," he murmurs pleadingly, fingers clenching. "I... there's something wrong, isn't there? You won't tell us _why_ Quinglongmon saved me."

The pause that follows Takeru's words speaks volumes. He hears rather than sees Taichi stiffen. Hears Hikari's breath stutter and catch in her throat. He wishes, wishes, wishes he could see her expression.

Because he's known Hikari long enough to read her. Now he can't, so he doesn't know what to expect. It's gotta be something bad to make them hesitate for _this_ long.

"Remember the prophecy with Devimon, Takeru?" Patamon says eventually, finally, resting a paw on his knee so suddenly that Takeru jerks in surprise. Feels Yamato's grip on him tighten again.

Takeru swallows. Unpleasant memories surface in his mind—ones he's spent years trying to bury. Shimmering pure data fading into the wind. Maniacal laughter. A sad, forlorn smile as Takeru cries, cries, cries, pleading for his partner not to leave him. Pleading for—

Patamon reaches forward, that same paw extending to wipe away the tears spilling over. He sees splotches of wet color on Patamon's fur, blurred by his tears. Something smears on his cheekbone.

"Sorry," he croaks, blinking rapidly. It's stupid how just _thinking_ about it can stir up such unwanted emotions. Especially because Patamon is _right in front of him_ , alive and breathing. "I, um... yeah, I do."

"If we hadn't been there... if _you_ hadn't been there to help me fight him..."

Patamon pauses, and there's this moment of clarity that Takeru can't explain. He _knows_ without having to be told. The memory of his friends' partners lying motionless and weak on the ground all those years ago flitters through his brain.

_"They say the smallest will destroy me."_

"We weren't there... to kill him," Takeru finishes for him. "So then you guys..."

He doesn't want to say it. Even thinking about it makes him feel sick.

Taichi clears his throat. "Yeah."

Takeru shudders, and even with Yamato holding him, he feels cold. He trembles. Bites his lip. Nausea and fatigue are working together to weaken him, and he wants nothing more than to pass out because at least if he's unconscious, he won't have to deal with this. The realization that Devimon could have murdered all of his friends—none of them older than thirteen—floors him so violently that it takes all of his willpower not to throw up.

Suddenly Daisuke laughs. It's not a real laugh—tinged too deeply by hysteria and exhaustion, and Takeru hears him sagging to the floor. "You know what, Takeru?"

"...what?" Takeru whispers hesitantly.

"All this time, you kept saying, 'I didn't want to trouble anyone' and 'I didn't think this was a big deal'..."

He trails off suddenly, laughing still, but Takeru doesn't understand what's so funny. Seeing his friend act so... unhinged is beyond unsettling.

"...you realize that they wouldn't be here... that _we_ wouldn't be here if not for you? And... and I'm not talking about this freakish Shadow world. I'm talking about here, like... some of us wouldn't be _breathing_."

Takeru swallows. Swallows again. His throat feels constricted.

"Like..." Daisuke repeats, breathless. "You're a teammate, don't you see? Anything that comes after you, we're gonna fight. You'd fight for us if we were being targeted like this, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would."

He wants it to come out strong. Wants to say it with conviction, to show how much he means it. But his voice is croaky and hoarse, so even though he answers without hesitation, it sounds cheap.

"I don't want to forget you exist," Hikari murmurs brokenly, staggering toward him. She sinks down in front of him like a withering flower, groping blindly for him in the dimness. Her fingers are trembling as she finds his hands. Her skin is slick from the not-rain, just like his, but it's reassuring to actually _feel_ that she's here with him. "You're my best friend."

"There's no reason why I wouldn't save you, Teek," Yamato says, seemingly haunted by the idea of never seeing Takeru again. "Even if it kills me. I'll protect you. I'm your older brother, damn it."

"You're not gonna be killed," Takeru says instantly, squeezing Hikari's hand as he turns to face his brother. Determination and denial bullets through him, hurrying to squash the panic that threatens to overtake him at the thought. "We're going to... Nii-san, no, I would let them kill you—"

"Then let's show these things who's boss," Taichi says, shifting as if to stand. "I'll fight to remember you, Takeru."

"I agree," Daisuke says, now having collected himself. "Let's go."

"Wait, one more thing," Takeru says hastily, pulling on Hikari's hands and resisting Yamato's hold when he tries to coax him upwards as well. There's something that has yet to be answered.

"What is it?" Koushiro asks when everyone else remains silent out of confusion. It's been so long since he spoke that Takeru jolts in surprise, having forgotten he was present.

"How... how did you get here?"

"Like we said, Quinglongmon—"

"No, I mean... how did you find us? This... this city—if you can even call it that—is so big and... and it took us _hours_ just to find a building that wasn't preoccupied by those things..." He trails off, unwilling to admit that this one _had_ been occupied. It had been a trap, just like both of them expected, but they'd been so worn out from their trek that they hadn't cared.

"Oh, that's easy," Patamon answers, suddenly perking up. "I could sense you."

Takeru blinks, giving his partner a perplexed look. "What?"

"We've always been able to sense our humans," Agumon says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"It is just harder to focus on it when there are other digimon or humans around," Gabumon adds. "It is like... Yamato is a beacon to me. The more people or digimon there are, the paler it becomes. You two were the only ones here when we first arrived, so it was easy to single you out. Especially because these... creatures..."

"They don't feel anything like humans or other digimon," Tentomon says when Gabumon trails off unexpectedly. "For example, when we are surrounded by dozens of other digimon, there's a constant... buzzing, of sorts. We can't feel what they feel or read their minds, obviously, but it's evident that digimon and humans are creatures with emotions and thoughts."

"...really?" Takeru whispers before Tentomon can continue, almost in awe. If something was wrong with Patamon—like when he'd died and was reborn, for example—Takeru had felt... strange. And he never truly feels whole without him around. But he had no idea that digimon could sense each other and humans, as well as their partners, so deeply.

"Yeah," Tailmon says, her voice quiet. "The Shadows are... a presence. We can feel like they're _there._ They don't have thoughts. They don't have feelings. They're just... alive. But even though there are so many, they're... muted."

"Your presence was much brighter," Patamon says. And then, suddenly, his expression splinters and falls. "Except now... you feel weird."

That makes Takeru go incredibly still. "What do you mean, weird?"

Before anyone can answer, an odd sensation skitters up Takeru's neck until it touches his jawline. He inhales sharply in shock, eyes popping, shivering. It's _cold_ , so cold that it almost hurts.

"What?" Yamato inquires urgently, aware of the way Takeru's body freezes. "What's wrong?"

"It's the..." He stops, not wanting to say burns because they don't feel like burns anymore. But the sensation was around the area where his burns used to be.

Instead of continuing, however, his fingers slide out from underneath Hikari's clammy hand and come up to brush against his throat, and his eyes widen even further.

"Please tell me it's not what I think it is," Takeru says brokenly, borderline pleading, as he looks imploringly at the person in front of him—Hikari. And then he looks at Patamon. At the rest of his friends. His breath hitches and quickens frantically. "...Hikari? Nii-san?"

It feels like the markings he saw on his reflection before it crawled out of the mirror. And it pulses underneath his touch, underneath his very skin, like a human heart. The nausea comes back full-force, squeezing at his stomach.

"It's... it's really hard to tell," Taichi says eventually, quietly, "because it's so dark in here."

"Let me see," Tailmon says, walking toward them with eerie ease. Takeru has to remind himself that she's a cat-like digimon, so of course she doesn't have any problems seeing with such little light.

For some reason, her voice reminds him of what Yamato had said earlier— _that thing... it did something to you_ —and as the words resurface in his mind, his dread intensifies. What did it do to him? His neck feels oddly and disturbingly tingly. Numb. And it just keeps getting worse, the more he thinks about it.

Tailmon studies him for an unnervingly long time. Long enough to make Takeru twitch and shift uncomfortably. Her silence isn't doing anything but confirming the suspicion growing bigger, bigger, bigger in his brain.

"My word," Gabumon breathes out finally when Tailmon says nothing.

"What does it mean?" Yamato asks, and none of them have any answers, but he looks at them all anyway, lingering on each outline of their friends' faces, eyes pleading for a response.

"It's..." Takeru's throat closes up at the thought, but he has to finish his sentence. Has to put the possibility out there. "It's turning me, isn't it? The Shadow?"

"It can't be," Yamato argues instantly. "Patamon and Gabumon chased it off in time."

"Maybe..." Koushiro hedges, thoughtful.

Takeru looks at him. So does Yamato. Even Hikari has shifted to meet his eyes because any explanation—even if it's a simple hypothesis—is better than nothing. They're grasping at straws, at this point. Takeru croaks, "What?

"Maybe it... did you feel it touch you? When we walked into the room... all we saw was the Shadow looming over you," Koushiro informs, sounding uncharacteristically uncertain and uneasy. "Maybe it wasn't able to fully change you completely because it was interrupted. But... it could have started the process."

"Damn it, Koushiro, what does it _mean?_ " Yamato repeats demandingly.

"It's like..." Koushiro squirms. "As an example... being injected with some kind of virus. Maybe it made contact with Takeru long enough to spread the 'virus' to Takeru."

"So..." Takeru chews the inside of his cheek, hesitant. Continues in a voice that breaks: "I'm... I'm going to be one of them?"

"No," Yamato says, violently shaking his head. "No, Takeru... I won't let that happen. I won't. I made a promise."

"But Nii-san..." Takeru turns. Looks back at his brother with an anxious, heartbroken expression. The dread coursing through him is like poison. "You heard him. The process has already begun."

"So let's find a way to slow it the hell down," Yamato continues, voice thick with denial and distress. "I refuse to go back on my promise, Teek. I'm not losing you. I won't let you become... become _like them._ "

"What'll happen... when the marks consume you?" Hikari asks fearfully.

Takeru nearly chokes on his own breath. He glances back at her, at Daisuke, at even Taichi. "I..."

He wants to say he doesn't know, but that's not true. Koushiro has already somewhat explained it. He'll be turned into a Shadow, and there's nothing he can do. His friends will forget him. Will they even make it out alive if he turns? The idea is beyond unsettling and it makes him shiver.

"Your memories... will be wiped," he says, and it physically pains him to say it. He feels ill as he speaks. "The Shadow... the one I saw in the mirror? It said that it wipes other people's memories to protect their species. So either your memory will be wiped and you'll be freed..."

"Or they'll come after us as well," Daisuke finishes for him.

Takeru's fingers ball up into fists. He knows—he _knows_ with every part in him, now—that his friends aren't going down without a fight. He doesn't want to go down without one, either. But...

But they've been pulled so deeply in this mess, trapped in a Shadow realm which they still don't know all that much about, with no guarantee of escape. Koushiro had explained earlier that Quinglongmon wouldn't be able to create another way out, not without consequences. And there are hundreds—he dares to think even _thousands_ —of Shadows out there.

He doesn't want to think it's hopeless. But despair whispers so lovingly in his ear. Whispers that they're going to die here, that they'll never see the digital world or Earth again, that the Shadows will win. Every awful idea, every dark thought—they pulse through him the same way these dark, vein-like marks convulse and twitch underneath his skin.

"Yamato... it's on you, too," Tailmon says urgently. "On your hand."

"What?" Yamato exclaims, bug-eyed. _"What?"_

Takeru's gaze darts downward to see, his own eyes widening as he sees what he had thought was a dark bruise earlier. He'd brushed it off as the burn because he knows that Yamato had been burned while trying to protect him, but now he's not so sure. It's still difficult to see, but somehow the marks still out, writhing underneath the inside of his brother's palm like panicked insects.

Takeru swallows back the bile that rises in his throat.

"Oh my god," Taichi breathes out. "Check Daisuke. He was burned, too."

"What?" Takeru echoes, whirling around. "How many people were burned?"

"Um... just me and you two," Daisuke answers shakily. "It doesn't feel any different. It still just kinda stings."

"Mine just feels... numb. And cold," Yamato says, voice hushed. "I don't get it. I mean, I saw the Shadow when it came out of the mirror, but it didn't touch me."

"It can't be contagious," Hikari says. "I don't have any marks on me, and neither does Nii-san. We both touched him."

"Do you think..." Takeru hedges, scared and uncertain. "I mean, it was so close that... I could feel its breath on my skin. But I can't... I can't remember if it actually touched me. Maybe it's... the exposure? We've been in this place for... hours..."

He trails off, leaving his sentence hanging and letting his friends absorb it. This is so dreadfully, painfully, disturbingly confusing. Every time they find an answer to one question, some other thing pops up.

"That could be possible," Koushiro says quietly. "So that means... we're under a time limit, now. We have to find a way to exterminate the Shadows and escape before Yamato and Takeru turn, and before Daisuke's put in immediate danger."

Yamato's arm slides underneath Takeru's shoulder blades protectively. Hikari squeezes his other hand, eyes glossy, face ashen.

"So let's go," Taichi says, gesturing for them to stand.

"And do what?" Takeru whispers feebly.

Taichi's eyes shine with a dire, fierce determination, sticking out like a candle flame in the dimness, burning and burning and burning. "We'll kick their asses."

* * *

[time: unknown]

They try to hurry out of the apartment building, but it's hard with little to no lights. Like the lights themselves had been an illusion created by the Shadows. If he wasn't so preoccupied with the idea of losing his little brother, Yamato would have thought more deeply about it—even go so far as to voice his concerns—but he can't. Because that's not what's important right now.

By the time Yamato, his brother, and the rest of his friends and digimon make it back outside, it's sprinkling. Yamato had all but forgotten that it was even raining, it's been so quiet.

Even though he should be used to it, the abnormal sky colors and raindrops send a wave of uneasiness through him, sinking deep into his bones, from head to toe. He doesn't like this. He doesn't like this at all.

A blast of fire flares above them. Birdramon. Which means their friends are close, and they're battling.

"Come on," Gabumon says, pulling on Yamato's non-webbed hand. Now that it's brighter, he can fully examine the markings, but he forces himself not to focus on it. "I'll digivolve."

Right. They have to get this over with and _fast._

Gabumon's free paw uncurls and he places a metal object in Yamato's marked palm. It glows in response to his touch, and the shadowy veins sticking out underneath his skin twitch so violently that Yamato almost drops his digivice out of surprise. His whole arm jerks and he hisses.

"What?" Takeru's voice is so fearful that it stabs his heart like needles. "Nii-san, what's wrong?"

"N-nothing, it's just..." He looks down at the device in his hand. Grips it tighter and wills himself to ignore the way his marks react. "...I don't think it likes my digivice?"

Takeru follows his gaze, but it isn't long before Hikari reaches into her pocket and hands him his own digivice. Takeru just blinks in delayed acknowledgment.

"The Shadows seem to be extremely vulnerable to our digimon," Koushiro explains quickly. "While we were searching for you, our partners were able to chase them off in seconds."

"That's true," Hikari says, her voice wobbly. "But we couldn't figure out how to kill them. They just ran off and brought more reinforcements."

"That doesn't sound reassuring," Takeru whispers quiveringly. "There are so many."

"Don't you worry, kiddo," Yamato reassures, almost instinct. "We are going to take these things down. _I promise you._ "

Their eyes meet, and suddenly the expression on Takeru's face shifts. Shifts. Even Hikari looks surprised at the change, but it's not a scary change. Takeru looks suddenly so brave that he's rivaling Taichi at this moment, and he gives a single, slow nod.

He doesn't have to ask if Takeru believes him or repeat himself. It's written all over his features. Takeru _knows._

"You're right," Takeru says finally, faintly. "I'm tired of running away."

With those words, the battle starts. It's Taichi who runs off first, followed by Daisuke, and himself, and Takeru and Hikari, who stay on either side of Yamato. Koushiro doesn't hesitate to follow.

Light permeates the world and it takes a long time to fade. Their partners are digivolving, ready to take on the Shadows. And they're running still, fueled by a newfound adrenaline. Because Takeru's right. They don't need to run away anymore. No more cowering, searching for safety.

It's time they fight back.

"Oh my goodness," comes an all-too-familiar voice, choked and watery. "Yamato... Takeru... I'm so, so glad you're both safe."

It's Sora. She's enveloping them in a warm embrace before he can speak, squeezing tightly and not seeming to notice their Shadow markings at all. She's covered in not-rain—soaked from head to toe—but then, so is everyone else. Yamato can't bring himself to care.

Takeru squeezes back instantly, melting like ice, which coaxes Yamato to return the hug as well. Out of the two of them, Takeru has always been more physical affectionate.

"That's coming from me, too," Mimi's voice says sternly, and suddenly a second pair of arms are encircling him.

That makes Yamato twitch. Takeru doesn't mind.

"Yeah, we're fine," Yamato says, a tad bit awkwardly. Sora releases him, but still holds onto Takeru, pressing a kiss into his hair like a mother would to her child.

Yamato twitches again. Not because he doesn't trust Sora or Mimi, but... but not even an hour ago, his brother had _disappeared without a trace._ He wants to be the one holding him. Because last time he let go, he couldn't find him anywhere.

Except Takeru starts to shake, which reminds him of one thing—hours ago, Takeru wasn't sure if he'd see his friends again. And Sora's embrace is undoubtedly warm. Of course he'll melt into it. He needs this. He really, really needs this.

"As much as I'd love for you guys to continue your reunion," Taichi says for him after casting Yamato a knowing look, "we have to hurry. Literally. I don't know if we have the time to explain right now, but Takeru and Yamato's clock is ticking. We have to be so fast."

That makes both girls pull away, looking at Taichi in confusion. But neither of them ask any questions. Sora meets Taichi's eyes and nods in understanding.

"Oh my gosh," Mimi gasps out. "Takeru, what's on... your neck...?"

"Like Nii-san said, we don't have time." Hikari suddenly looks very determined as she steps forward. Her voice is no longer wavering. It's loud and clear now. "We have to find a way to kill these Shadows quickly."

Suddenly Halsemon is swooping down towards them. Miyako is mounted on him, soaked like Sora and Mimi, looking terrified. She cried out, "We have no idea how to kill them, though! Every time we attack them, they scatter like dust, but they keep coming back!"

"It's true," comes Digmon's voice. He's holding Iori, only stopping long enough to set him down in a safe zone before leaping back off into battle. Halsemon does the same with Miyako, offering nods in Takeru and Yamato's direction before he was in the sky again.

"They keep respawning, and they bring back up," Iori says, seeming equally scared. "We're outnumbered."

Yamato watches as Garurumon takes off to join his comrades in the battle, followed by Greymon, Angemon, Tailmon, and Kabuterrimon. Yamato walks back over to Takeru, pulling him close without hesitation, and swallows anxiously when streaks of lightning turn the sky different colors. Yellow fuses with red to form orange, stretching over the clouds like a blanket. The ground shakes, but no sound comes, save for the deafening blasts of their digimon. There's fire. Electricity. Glowing beams.

Shadows slink back and forth, bending and shrinking and stretching, trying to avoid getting hit and failing. They're no longer hiding in buildings, silently watching. They're all out trying to defend themselves.

Yamato doesn't know which he prefers. Being watched or being actively hunted, only protected by their partners.

More of their friends are running towards them. The only thing that sets them apart from the shadows is the way they move—arms pumping, legs pushing forward. They're running like normal human beings.

And they're covered in colorful raindrops. The rain slides effortlessly off the shadows, but it clings to his friends. Their clothes. Their skin. Just like Takeru and himself.

"We don't..." Ken is panting. "W-we don't know what to do."

"They seem to just multiply," Jou says, gasping for breath as he rests his hands on his knees.

"Do you know if there's a source?" Koushiro asks, looking around at the breathless group of teens before his gaze lands on Takeru and Yamato. "Like... a leader, maybe. Perhaps if we take out the strongest, we'll have a better advantage. Maybe their leader is what keeps sending out more Shadows."

Takeru goes unnaturally stiff in his arms. Yamato gives him an alarmed look, and dread pulses through him as he sees his brother's shirt flutter like there's something alive underneath it. He takes one look at Takeru's webbed neck and he doesn't have to ask. The marks are spreading down his chest.

Something cold slinks up his wrist. He knows what it is. Can't bring himself to look.

"I..." Takeru starts, brows knitting together. But he seems to have trouble continuing, and that makes Yamato's heart sink.

Quietly, carefully, he prompts, "What, Teek?"

"I know..." He inhales slowly, eyes drifting shut as he brings one hand up to rubble his right temple. "I know who their leader is."

"What?" Taichi asks, eyes popping.

"Who?" Koushiro says curiously.

There's an achingly long pause.

"...me," Takeru answers finally.

Every muscle in Yamato's body freezes. Suddenly he can't move. Shock steals his breath, causing his throat to constrict, and his fingers dig into his shoulder blades. Takeru pays no heed—he shifts, arms moving as he locates Hikari.

And he pulls her into him, squeezing, and the only reason Yamato hears what he says to her is because of the fact that he's so close to him. He murmurs, "Please trust me. We'll come back."

If possible, Hikari's face becomes even paler. Every part of her that isn't covered by not-rain is drained white, and her eyes are huge with fear and uncertainty. She barely has time to ask what he means because abruptly, Takeru's fingers curl around Yamato's unmarked wrist and tug him forward.

Then they're running. Running, running, running. Away from their friends. Away from safety. He's pulling Yamato directly into battle, and Yamato's too stunned to utter a word.

Even as Hikari finally calls out to Takeru.

Even as their friends echo her fearful cries.

Even as the world is illuminated by their partners' attacks.

He propels himself forward like they hadn't spent hours walking before. Like he's not completely drained of energy. Like the exhaustion from earlier isn't trying to return. Takeru drags Yamato into the heat of the fight with such determination that Yamato doesn't know how to make him stop.

"Hey," Takeru calls suddenly. "Look at me! Don't you see me?"

Half of their partners freeze, calling off their attacks just before him and his brother are turned to ashes. Even the Shadows pause, iridescent eyes turning to face them with a childlike sort of fascination.

"Takeru," Yamato whispers, finally finding his voice, which sounds too loud now that the world is entirely silent.

"Trust me," Takeru repeats just as softly.

Yamato quiets. Takeru squeezes his wrist.

Then, in a much firmer tone: "I'm the one you want."

Some of the Shadows tilt their heads, as if in confusion. Yamato inhales through his nose because the sight is so unsettling that his body threatens to shake.

"Yes," one of them finally hisses, almost like a snake. Takeru's grip on his wrist tightens again.

They move like water through a sewage gate, prowling toward them with the grace of a predatory cougar. One says, "We're hungry."

"Yes. Hungry."

"No food... for so long..."

"Hungry."

"Leader."

_"Leader."_

Yamato's heart thrashes against his chest. His eyes dart back and forth between the Shadows. They're getting closer to them, growing quicker and quicker by the second. It makes him want to drag his brother back to safety. Makes him wonder what the hell is running through Takeru's head.

"So I've been told," Takeru continues, working his jaw. "You need me to survive."

Most of them stutter to a halt at his words, as though they're not sure what to expect. Takeru's eyes are searching, searching, searching. Like he's looking for something in particular. Yamato's breath hitches when he sees the markings crawl up his chin. Sees them writhe and twitch.

"Yes, I remember you telling me something similar," a voice, clear as a cloudless sky, says suddenly. "Though it's insulting that you put yourself on such a high pedestal."

"Oh?" Takeru challenges, narrowing his eyes. "I think it's the other way around, actually. You've preyed upon, murdered, and stole innocent young children from their families."

"Even we need to feed," the unfamiliar voice continues. "As a human that considers food a basic necessity, I thought you would understand that."

Something flutters in the distance. Shimmers like lake water. Yamato zeroes in on it immediately, his older brother instinct screaming for him to get Takeru away from that voice. Then.

Then a Shadow drops, bulging eyes glowing, rushing toward him and his brother with inhuman speed.

Yamato jolts, but Takeru holds him in place. Side-eyes him. His lips twitch with the threat of a smirk.

"I have a feeling you're not going to reconsider my offer," says the Shadow, body shuddering like the light of a candle.

"What offer?" Takeru says, blinking in mock confusion. "Because, as I recall... you weren't really offering me anything. You weren't giving me a choice in anything."

"But you know that it would be so much easier to you let us turn you." The Shadow takes another step forward, so close that Yamato can see the wisps of its breath.

The sky illuminates with lightning again. The orange fades back into red.

"It would be... much less painful than... this," the Shadow says, gesturing toward the markings snaking up Takeru's face. "It wouldn't be as slow. You wouldn't feel a thing."

There's a pause. Takeru's eyes flash and his jaw twitches.

"I think I have a better idea," Takeru states. Yamato can see his brother's reflection in its mirror-like eyes, and it's something that doesn't sit well with him.

It looks simultaneously frustrated and amused. "Is that so?"

"How about..." Takeru starts, pretending to think for a moment, "...you leave me and my friends alone?"

The Shadow tsked. "And if I refuse?"

Takeru's expression darkens like a storm cloud in a way Yamato's never seen before. "Then... we might have to use force."

Yamato isn't sure why the Shadow reacts the way it does. Like there's something he's missing out on. Whatever the case, he doesn't like it. Especially when the Shadow shrieks, "Arrogant boy!"

Yamato's unprepared when it lunges. But Takeru's hold on him doesn't loosen in the slightest. Not even he hears voices screaming. Not even when the world around them becomes distorted with dark splotches, colors muting and fading.

It stays that way for an indefinite amount of time—he can still feel his brother's fingers curled around his skin, and they're drifting, drifting, drifting. Splashes of color mix dangerously with shadow, and for a sweet, small, blissful moment, Yamato feels absolutely nothing. Wonders, distantly, if he is dead.

Then sensation comes slamming back into him like a bullet, and he's sitting upright, wondering why he's on the ground and how he got there. Doesn't feel Takeru's hand on him anymore.

Panic ripples through him and his eyes pop open, desperately searching for his brother. He's in a field. He sees a red sky, with no foreboding shadows. No color-stained clothes. Sees trees looming all around him, and his heart sinks when he realizes how disturbingly familiar this place is.

It's the field from his dream. The field where he saw a younger version of his brother, arms curled around his neck, inexplicably cold and heavy.

"Takeru?" he calls, looking around frantically. Yes, this is so very familiar. The only thing that's different is the color of the overcast, bleeding into everything around him. He can't even find the sun. "Takeru, where are you?"

Goosebumps pebble over his skin and the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he continues to look around. This is just like before, when he'd gone to see if it was still raining, and when he turned to tell Takeru that it was, he was gone.

He doesn't know what to do when Takeru disappears. Everything in him _screams_ for Yamato to find him, to make sure he's alright. What kind of a brother is he, losing sight of Takeru so often?

An aching coldness spiders up his forearm, past his elbow. A glance downward makes his stomach twist and churn, and his brain demands, _Find Takeru. We're running out of time._

Because Takeru's turning faster than him. The markings are spreading twice as fast. If he doesn't find him soon, he'll lose him forever.

"Takeru," he shouts again, looking around wildly. Ignores the sense of déjà vu that floods through him. "Takeru, I—"

"Oh, goodie, more friends," a voice chirps excitedly, so young and innocent that it makes Yamato freeze in place. "We're looking for him, too. Want to join us?"

Yamato looks around. Everything is tinted a sickly shade of red.

Tiny fingers pull on his thumb and his whole body jerks. There's a little girl who wasn't here just moments ago, and she's wearing a fluttering yellow sundress that looks strangely orange in this lighting, with her dark hair pinned back, eyes soft and gleeful.

"What—what the _hell?_ " he says, stumbling backward without hesitation. "Who are you? Where is my brother?"

"My name's Hibiki," she answers happily, reaching for his fingers again. "Enomoto Hibiki."

"And I'm Kawasaki Ichirou," another voice chimes in, his tone similar to that of the little girl's. Another pair of hands tug at his wrist, which makes Yamato's heart drop. "Don't worry, Yamato! We'll help you find Takeru!"

Yamato becomes motionless like a statue as his name rolls off the boy's tongue with ease. The only person who should have known it is Takeru, who is nowhere to be found. And this boy... he's way taller—maybe by at least half a foot—than the one who has introduced herself as Hibiki, with touseled light-brown hair and piercing green eyes that stand out in this world that is bathed in red. His attire is far more casual than the girl's: khaki shorts, a striped t-shirt. He's not even wearing shoes.

Except... wait a second.

_"Hibiki was talking to me."_

Another wave of harsh familiarity hits him, and suddenly he's standing in a bathroom, studying a smaller Takeru, who's standing on the step stool in front of the sink, even with the extra help, he has to use his tip-toes to reach the faucet. There's a girl behind him—one who looks strikingly similar to Hibiki, with the same yellow sundress and soft, soft eyes.

There's something missing. Like he's remembering wrong. It feels... it feels _wrong_ , like he's putting together a puzzle that's missing a lot of pieces. Isn't there more to this picture?

There were so many shadows. And thunder. Thunder, and lightning, and the deafening torrent of rain.

How does he know that?

Before he can dwell too long on it, the scene shifts. Clenches and pulses and morphs, and the bathroom literally falls. Yamato's staring, wide-eyed, as it descends into darkness, and then the floor comes back. This time, he's in the middle of a secluded hallway, and Takeru's by a buzzing public drinking fountain, eyes trained on a confused, floating little boy.

_"Ichi...rou... where's your mama and daddy?"_

Yamato's heart stutters in his chest like an old car engine. He feels breathless and lightheaded, horror crawling through every inch of his body. This scene feels more recent, despite the age difference between the Takeru he knows and the Takeru he's looking at. It's from one of his nightmares.

But... was it really only a nightmare? There's something deep in his brain that whispers it wasn't. Whispers, _Don't you remember?_

Whispers, _Don't you see?_

Whispers, _The thunderstorm was too loud._

Whispers, _Takeru... gone..._

Whispers, _They took him from you._

Yamato's knees buckle, and then he's kneeling on the field again. The hallway is gone. Takeru is gone. But Hibiki and Ichirou remain, looking at him with concern that he knows, somewhere deep inside, is false.

"Yamato?" Hibiki whispers, almost fearfully.

"Are you ok?" Ichirou asks, tugging on his hand. "Let's go find Takeru, Yamato!"

"It was..." Yamato swallows. "It was _you._ "

Ichirou blinks, and his expression quickly becomes afraid as Yamato's icy eyes meet his. "What do you mean, Yamato?"

"You... you were... the one who took him away..." he says slowly, with a frown. "And Koushiro said Quinglongmon... had to fight you to get him back." Then his gaze shifts over to Hibiki, who looks just as frightened as Ichirou. "And you... you're the one who started it all... with the thunderstorm..."

Another few blinks. Yamato only continues to stare, his eyes growing colder and colder as he studies them. How dare they look so innocent when they were the ones trying to separate him from his little brother? From the person who means the most to him?

"You _monsters_ ," he spits, reeling back.

And suddenly, the innocent confusion and fear is gone. This time, when Ichirou blinks, his expression is wiped clean of emotion. "So... you remember us."

"That's really odd," Hibiki murmurs faintly, robotically. "No one remembers us. Not even our families."

"No wonder your brother is so fond of you." Ichirou pauses, staring down at the cold, dark webbing slowly inching up his shoulder. "You remember him."

"Leave him out of this," Yamato hisses vehemently, glaring hard at the two Shadow children with every ounce of anger in him. "Don't bring him up again."

"But..." Hibiki tilts her head, looking so guiltless and small that it's almost offensive. "We did so much for you, do you see? You don't like thunderstorms... so we muted it for you. You couldn't see the colors... so we let you see them. Why aren't you happy, Yamato? What else do we have to do?"

"Let me and my brother _go_ , for starters," Yamato says, his frown deepening. "And don't you ever, _ever_ come back!"

"Oh..." Ichirou actually sounds disappointed. "But then we'll starve. We're just little kids, Yamato, why would you want us to starve?"

"Don't play that game with me." Yamato stands with all the strength he has, but continues to stumble backward until he falls again, desperate to get away from them. Takeru. He has to find Takeru. "You're not kids. You're monsters."

"You think I am a monster, Onii-chan?"

Yamato freezes again, and it's as though he's completely paralyzed as Takeru's voice flutters over to him like a butterfly. It's soft, and it's hurt, and Yamato _knows_ it can't be right because he sounds way too damn young, but when his head snaps up, all rationality fades, washed away as if by water.

Because there, not affected by the red sky at all, is his little brother, eyes so blue they seem to glow. His hair is like a golden halo, face awash with tears, small hands shaking at his sides. There are no white jeweled eyes. No shadow markings. He looks... strangely ethereal, standing there.

_Red flag,_ a tiny part of his brain murmurs, but is hushed when Takeru takes a hesitant step toward him.

"Is it true, Onii-chan?" he asks, so brokenly that his heart cracks a little. Repeats, "Am I monster to you?"

_Yes,_ he thinks in spite of himself. _You're not him._

"No," he says out loud, that other voice squashed once again as he shakes his head. "No... you're not... a monster..."

Takeru trembles and trembles, more tears spilling over, dripping off his chin, and some primal, instinctual part of him craves to wipe those tears away. It's his job as an older brother to eliminate whatever thing that makes him upset, and it's hard when _Yamato's_ the one making him cry.

"But you said it," Takeru continues, a sob accompanying his words. "You called me and my friends monsters."

"Takeru, I..."

"Why, Onii-chan?"

"I—I didn't..."

"I love you so much, Onii-chan."

"I..." Yamato swallows back the raw dryness in his throat. "Teek, I'm sorry..."

"I just want to be with you," Takeru says, now wailing as he buries his face in his hands. His shoulders shake and shake and shake. "Why would you call me such mean things?"

Yamato's hand twitches, aching to move, to wrap him up, to rock him back and forth, back and forth. The sound of Takeru crying pierces through his heart so deeply that it leaves a scar. It hurts so damn much to hear him cry, to hear him sound so vulnerable and upset.

The sky above him darkens, the red around him becoming deeper. Yamato doesn't care.

Something cold crawls across the expanse of his chest. Yamato doesn't care.

The only thing he can focus on is Takeru's loud, heart-wrenching sobs, stretching over the field, echoing. Yamato swallows, pushing himself forward with all the strength he has in him.

"No... Takeru..." His voice is soothing, and he shakes his head repeatedly. "Don't cry, little buddy..."

His heart pounds with the strain of moving. Why is it suddenly so hard to reach him? It's like something is holding him back. He forces himself forward anyway, fingers outstretched. Just a few... more...

"How _dare_ you."

It's Takeru's voice, and yet it's not. He sounds older, and he sounds livid. There's an odd hint of something inhuman, something mechanical, and that's what breaks Yamato free the spell.

He jolts, gaze snapping upward, and his insides curl in on themselves at what he sees.

The marks have extended up past his face, cupping his cheek like a crooked handprint. His hands are covered in black webs, twirling around his fingers like tightly-fitted rings that won't come off. One of his eyes is growing solid, shimmering like a crystal in sunlight.

"How dare you trick _my_ brother," he goes on, his words seething rage and disbelief. "How dare you use _my_ voice to do it. How dare you take _my_ body to do it."

He races forward, but it isn't long before he's stumbling, fumbling, like he can't quite gain control of his legs. Yamato shoots up, but Takeru isn't done talking.

"It belongs to _me._ It's the only thing in this life that will ever belong solely to me. You have no right to take it away. And these kids..." He's quaking. "How dare you take away their innocence, their life, for your own selfish gain. They're just _children_ , can't you see? They're defenseless and vulnerable. You stripped them of their family... of everything they've ever known... and you don't even _care._ "

His hands come slamming down on the toddler version of Takeru—of the Shadow Takeru—and they clench around its shoulders, digging into his shirt. His expression is radiating with aggression and hatred.

"You _are_ a monster."

Then he's snarling, and he looks so full of rage and so unlike his little brother that it's haunting. Haunting enough to leave Yamato paralyzed again, unable to do anything but watch.

"Kids will believe anything you tell them," he continues, voice suddenly dangerously calm. Robotic. An icy feeling spreads over his other shoulder, and he watches as Takeru's other cheek becomes affected, too. "They're so trusting. You show them beautiful colors, and they're fascinated. You tell them you want to be friends, and they'll agree. Any illusion you create, they'll love. You lure them in with this false sense of security, with false promises... and then they're trapped."

A lone tear wells up on Takeru's normal eye, but the other is frozen over. When the tear falls, the markings convulse and pulse in aggregation. Takeru winces.

"They must be... so lonely," he murmurs, much softer now. Like he's run out of steam. "Nobody remembers that they exist. They don't have a family to go back to, because you made their families forget. I can't imagine how much that hurts. And even if..."

His fingers clench again, holding the Shadow in place. It hasn't moved—just stares bug-eyed at him, frozen with fear, as though there's nothing it can do to break free of Takeru's hold.

"Even if we kill you," Takeru says faintly, "...will their families remember them? Will their memories be returned? There are so many Shadows. You've got to be so old to create such a big army, to feed so much. Maybe some of these kids' families are dead."

The small body of Shadow Takeru wavers. Folds in on itself like a blanket. Darkens. Darkens.

And suddenly, Takeru looks straight at Yamato.

"Nii-san," he says solemnly. "Do you trust me?"

Yamato studies his eye. His cheeks. His neck. Murmurs, "Of course I do, Teek."

He reaches for Yamato's arm, and when he makes physical contact, it burns so badly that it makes Yamato nauseous. But he doesn't pull away. Can't even try. Takeru tells him, "I've got to take this one back with us. It's the strongest..."

"What will you do with it?" Yamato asks. "Takeru, you—"

"Just... just _trust me_ , Nii-san. Please. I can feel it. I've only got minutes."

"Ok." He's nodding, quivering from the pain of Takeru's hold. "O...ok."

Then the world around them crumbles. Splinters and cracks and shatters like a mirror, and they're all falling. Falling. Falling. Takeru still doesn't let go, and it burns, burns, burns. Bone-deep. Like Takeru's touch is enough to separate his hand from Yamato's body.

Distantly, he hears a shout. A muted cry of frustration. He peels his eyes open, unaware of when they drifted shut, and gasps when he sees that Shadow Takeru is literally _fusing_ into Takeru's body. Like he's absorbing it.

They're on the ground now. And it's pouring.

"Ta...Takeru..." Yamato's voice is too weak and wobbly. Choked. Strained. He feels like he's going to vomit. "Takeru, s-stop—"

"Ange...mon..."

Takeru's voice isn't his. It's loud, because the storm is still soundless, but Takeru doesn't even look around to see where their partners are or if they're even here. The markings are crawling over his unaffected eye, ready to consume it.

"Ang...emon..."

"Angemon," Yamato calls, as loud as he can, looking around wildly for his brother's partner. He sees that they're surrounded by his friends, by their digimon, trapped in a circle.

Yamato hears a collective groaning sound, but he can't determine the source. The sky is purple now.

"I'm right here," Angemon answers, walking towards them with only a moment of hesitance.

Takeru looks up, searching. Searching. Angemon's right in front of him, kneeling, but it's like he can't see him.

"...ki...ll... m...me..."

He releases Yamato's wrist as he speaks, slow, each syllable dragged out, like a malfunctioning machine or a scratched CD. It only takes one second for Yamato to stitch them together, and when the words register, his heart squeezes.

"N-no..." Yamato struggles to shake his head, denial pulsing through him. His whole body aches with how cold he feels. "Takeru, w-we c-c-can't—"

"Tr..." Takeru's body shifts. "Tru...st... me... plea—"

_"Holy Shot!"_

A blast of light illuminates the entire world, drowning out the shadows, drowning out the colors. Even drowning out the outlines of his friends' bodies. And warmth seeps into him, piercing through the vein-like shadows on Yamato's arms. Through the ice building inside him. Suddenly he feels so light, like he's floating. Like even gravity is a myth.

The groaning dulls. Dulls. Then it's nonexistent, and the warmth is wrapping around his wrist. Weaving into his wounds, healing the skin, purging everything that is unholy from his body.

Purging this realm of every illusion, of every Shadow, until there's not a drop of its existence left.

The light fades so slowly that Yamato doesn't even realize it's gone completely until somebody shakes his shoulder. He hums, but no full, coherent words will come out.

The person shakes him harder. Something wet presses against his shirt. Voices filter through the air, fragmented and muffled.

"—mato. YAMATO!"

Yamato's eyes snap open, and even though the voice doesn't belong to Takeru, he's the first person that Yamato thinks to look for. His gaze skitters around without aim, body heaving upwards before he knows what he's doing.

"Takeru," he blurts out, the name coming out sluggishly. "Bro... little bro, where are you?"

"Right here."

The world tilts and sways indefinitely. He's not sure when it finally decides that it's going to stand still, but when it does, he sees that Garurumon is curled around him protectively. Angemon is leaning against Garurumon, too, with an all-too-familiar blond boy cradled in his lap.

"Keru," Yamato says, voice breaking. His body jerks again, arms twitching, but he's too weak to move. "Oh my god... is he ok? Please tell me he's ok."

"Easy. Easy," Garurumon soothes, and it takes a few moments to realize that it had been Garurumon nudging him with his nose. "He's fine, Yamato. Angemon's attack stopped the transformation just in time."

Yamato literally sags with relief, leaning heavily into Garurumon. He's panting from the exertion of sitting up, heart thundering in his chest, and any other day he would have been embarrassed by it, but now all he can feel is sweet, blissful relief.

"...nnn..."

"Oh my gosh, are they awake?"

"They're waking up. Hey, Elecmon, they're waking up!"

"Thank goodness... I was worried..."

"...reckless pair of brothers, honestly..."

"...can you believe what he did...?"

More voices. They blend together like ribbons, words merging, and he can't tell anyone apart. Can't even tell the difference between feminine and masculine.

One voice, however, sticks out loud and clear, and it makes him forget how utterly exhausted he feels at the moment.

"...Nii-san...?"

"H-hey," he croaks, reaching tremulously for his brother's hand. His brother's hand, which is no longer covered in this awful, awful shadow markings.

Takeru hums, just like he does, and doesn't open his eyes. "M'glad... that it... that it worked..."

Yamato stills. Around him, he can hear another chorus of remarks—an even split of indignant and concerned—and he squeezes his brother's fingers, heart pounding faster.

"What... what do you mean?" he says, more urgently before. "Takeru... are you... are you telling me that you weren't _one-hundred percent sure_ it would work?"

Gradually, finally, Takeru cracks his eyes open, giving Yamato a cheeky smile that's watered down with fatigue. "I just... had a feeling... and it wouldn't leave..." He shifts in Angemon's arms very slowly, looking content and warm and like he never wants to move. "...had to act on it, Nii-san..."

Yamato laughs. He laughs and laughs until his voice breaks, until his smile falters, and then tears are seeping through, rolling down his cheeks as he staggers forward, allowing Angemon to pull him closer to Takeru, and he sobs in Takeru's hair.

Doesn't care that he's surrounded by his friends.

Doesn't care if the whole world is watching.

"...don't..." Takeru's voice is cracking, too. Fracturing like ice under too much weight. "D-don't... cry, Nii-san... m'fine."

He can't stop. Because Takeru's words from earlier, telling him that he only had minutes before he was completely turned... the image of Takeru's eyes turning into mirror-like pearls... it'll haunt him for weeks to come, and he has to soak up this moment, knowing that this nightmare is over.

"We did it," Takeru slurs, eyes half-lidded. "No more Shadows, Nii-san..."

"That's right," he says thickly, not even bothering to wipe away his tears. "You... you did it, Teek. No more Shadows."

Softly, quietly, Angemon asks, "How do you feel, Takeru?"

"Mm." Takeru's head turns weakly. "...safe."

"Safe?" Angemon echoes as if he has to be sure.

"Mmm-hmm." He sighs, chest shuddering, and leans into Yamato's neck like it's the most natural thing he's ever done. "Headache's... gone."

"Yeah?" Garurumon says.

"And... I'm hungry," Takeru finishes. "Very hungry."

"Well," another voice says suddenly. It's only vaguely familiar. "I can fix that. I'll go catch some fish for you two, alright? Stay put."

"I'll come, too," another voice offers. That one sounds like Mimi.

"Me too."

Daisuke.

"And me."

Miyako.

Yamato wants to say that there's no way he's going to move. Not with Takeru right here, alive and breathing. Of course he's going to stay put. He doesn't care how many people go fishing. He doesn't even care about eating right now.

Except Takeru does, so he doesn't fight them at all. Doesn't even watch them as half of his friends disappear.

Someone sinks down next to Yamato. A hand touches his arm, fingers feather-soft, voice like silk.

"You both scared us so much," Sora says faintly. "And if you do it again, I'm gonna kick your ass."

It's the first time he's ever heard Sora curse. Evidently, Takeru thinks the same thing, because suddenly he's giggling tiredly like it's the funniest thing he's heard in a long time.

"Uh oh," he says, without moving. "...she's mad, Nii-san."

Takeru continues to laugh, and it isn't long before Sora and Yamato join him.

Because Takeru's laughter is infectious in the best possible way, and it's the most beautiful sound.


	14. Epilogue (Leave the Light on for Me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are! :) the very end! thank you for reading, everyone. <3

**Ch 13 || Epilogue (Leave the Light on for Me)**

[2 March 2004; 4:13pm]

Takeru's exhausted.

After yesterday, he feels as though he could sleep for weeks. Fatigue clings to him like wet clothes, and it makes it hard to focus on the task he and Daisuke have been given: classroom chores.

He doesn't mind doing them, not really. They _did_ skip school without any kind of reasonable excuse. And what's he supposed to say to get them out of trouble, anyway? "Oh, sorry, I couldn't make it to school because I was busy fighting monsters. Won't happen again. Probably."

Takeru smiles humorlessly to himself. Right. Like that will help at all.

"What's so funny?" Daisuke asks, not sounding rude, but curious. He's got a stack of textbooks in his hands, peering at Takeru over the top.

"Nothing, really. Just imagine if we told Sensei why we didn't come to school yesterday."

"Oh," Daisuke says faintly. Then he's setting the textbooks on the desk closest to him and laughs. "Like they would believe us."

"I know," Takeru says, shaking his head. He's still smiling. "The curse of being a Chosen Child."

"Hey, I mean… not that yesterday was much fun. You scared us all. But I really _didn't_ want to go to school."

That makes Takeru laugh, probably hard enough that he looks and sounds insane. He's spent most of the day trapped inside his head, weighed down with exhaustion, and Daisuke's just so _lively_. It's refreshing.

"I didn't want to go, either," he admits truthfully, when his laughter finally dies down so he can finish what he's doing. "Nii-san kept telling me to go home, but I couldn't."

"Your bro gave you the option to stay home without consequence and you said _no?_ " Daisuke actually looks offended upon hearing this. He walks to the other side of the room where a bookshelf stands, presumably so he can put the textbooks where they belong. "No way."

Takeru rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"Well, we've only got to this for the week. And we're almost done now."

"At least Hikari thought ahead," Takeru says. "She went to the nurse's office and told them she was going home sick."

"It's not like you gave me time to make up excuses, Takeru."

He says it teasingly, but the words still make Takeru's smile falter. Daisuke's right. They'd ran to the school, went inside, and he'd ran right back out without much of an explanation. He bolted without hesitation, and Daisuke, being Daisuke, chose only to follow. And what happened after that brings them to the present.

He winces, and hurries to hide it, but the shift in Daisuke's expression tells him he saw it. Takeru says, "Thank you. For everything. I'm sorry I got you in trouble."

"Are you kidding?" Daisuke says, eyes popping wide. "I'm just glad you're still _here._ You're my friend!"

His heart squeezes and thumps and for a moment, he can only sputter. Warmth pools in his stomach before he finally manages to smile, and says, "Thanks, Daisuke."

Daisuke flashes a cheeky grin and gives him a thumbs-up. Then looks around, nods to himself, and says, "We finished everything, I think. Let's get out of here."

"You're right. We finished everything on the list," Takeru says thoughtfully, pointing to the chalkboard. Although he's been in school long enough to have these chores memorized, it's nice that there's a list to reflect on so they don't get in trouble for forgetting something. "Maybe the next few days will go by fast and it'll be the weekend before we know it."

"And we can _sleep._ "

"I am so looking forward to that," Takeru says as they leave the room.

"Yeah, I bet. I'm surprised you even showed up to school, man. You look beat."

Takeru falls quiet upon hearing that. He slept for hours in the digital world, basking in the feeling of being safe, in the knowledge that the Shadows were gone and would no longer hurt any other children. And then, when they returned home, he stayed with Yamato overnight and slept until his father came in to wake both of them.

Maybe it's because he slept very little over the weekend. Maybe it's the aftermath of being hit by Angemon's attack. Maybe it's because the Shadows were trying to change him, draining him of his energy pulse by pulse, inch by inch. Whatever the reason, he still feels like he hasn't slept at all, and wants nothing more than to sleep the week away.

He supposes he'd rather be exhausted than in pain. The relief from his headaches is mind-numbing. He's so glad that it's gone, that he can breathe without fearing for his life.

"Ugh, you know what I just realized?" Daisuke moans suddenly, pulling at his hair.

Takeru slows his pace, blinking in confusion. "What?"

"My mom _grounded_ me," he says. "Which I think is totally unfair! It's not like I skip school _all the time._ "

Takeru frowns. "Can… can you tell her the truth? At least some version of it? Tell her there was trouble in the digital world or something."

It's a little rich coming from him, because while he and Yamato were able to tell their father a similar story, he isn't sure what to tell his mom. His dad has always been more welcoming of the idea that his children are partnered with creatures from another world. His mom is more wary, and maybe that's why he's a little afraid of going home by himself.

His dad had talked her out grounding Takeru somehow. He wasn't awake for that conversation. But he's more afraid of the heartbreak written in his mother's eyes, because after his 'disappearing act' on Friday, he knows that lying to her is causing her pain. He doesn't even know if she's still suspicious of him.

It's something he'll deal with eventually. He can't hide at his brother's house forever.

"I guess I could," Daisuke says finally with a shrug. "I doubt she'd take me seriously, even if Chibomon was here to vouch for me. And if she _does_ believe me, well… I dunno, I just don't see the point in worrying her. But I'm not the kind of kid that stays out of trouble, so she might just think I'm making up excuses."

"I'm really sorry," Takeru repeats, looking down at his feet as they walk.

"What? No, dude, I'm not blaming you! I'd do it again, I swear," Daisuke tells him. "I'm just saying… the aftermath sucks, you know?"

"Yeah," Takeru says. "It kinda does."

"But like you said, maybe the week will fly by! And then it'll be over."

Takeru quiets again, but a smile tugs at his lips. Much as he hates causing trouble for his friends, he's relieved to know he's not alone in this. He wouldn't blame any of the other Chosen for being mad at him for dragging them into this or making them skip school, but it's nice to know Daisuke isn't holding a grudge. Daisuke isn't the type of person to hold a grudge, anyway.

They make it to the front doors of the school, and Daisuke walks through them with two big strides like it's some symbol of victory. Then he's jogging down the steps, two at a time, and Takeru wonders where all his energy is coming from.

"Oi, Takeru," Daisuke says suddenly, stopping suddenly at the bottom of the steps.

Takeru just about smacks into him, but stops just in time. "What?"

"Your brother's here."

Takeru's head snaps up in the direction that Daisuke points, blinking in surprise when he sees that his friend is right—Yamato's leaning against a tree near the sidewalk. He hasn't noticed them yet. Seems too distracted with the flow of traffic in the city. But he's here all the same, and that makes Takeru smile.

Shadows aside, he does love spending time with his brother. He's happy to see him here.

"I'll see you later?" Daisuke says, more of a question than a statement.

"Sure," Takeru answers. "Thanks again."

"No prob, dude." He's already taking off in the other direction. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

Takeru chuckles, and then sees that Daisuke's call has caught his brother's attention. Yamato looks up, and he pushes himself off the tree once he sees Takeru.

"Hey, kiddo," Yamato greets, ruffling his hair. "How was school?"

Takeru's smile twitches and falters again. Admits truthfully, "Exhausting. But I guess it gave me a distraction. And yours?"

"About the same." Yamato sighs. "Glad it's over."

"Me too."

They ease into a comfortable silence that stretches out for a few minutes. The sounds of the city—cars driving by; the wind whispering in the trees; and other citizens walking around with their friends, family, or by themselves—and then they head in a direction that's opposite of Takeru's apartment.

Not that Takeru minds. But he has to ask, "Should we tell Mom I'm going to your place again?"

Yamato shrugs. "I kind of already did."

"Oh. I see."

"Unless you'd rather go home? I can walk you home, if you want."

Their eyes meet, and there's something in Yamato's gaze that Takeru can't fully read. Something misty and strangely vulnerable, and it makes his heart constrict. Makes his stomach clench. Like he's pleading for something.

"No, it's ok," Takeru says, flashing a smile. "I don't mind."

Yamato returns the gesture, but it doesn't meet his eyes. He says, "Ok. There was… something I wanted to talk to you about, actually."

"Yeah?"

"It's about… yesterday."

Takeru had expected this. He almost can predict what Yamato's going to say next, and a whisper of anxiety flutters through him at the thought. He swallows it back and asks, "...what about yesterday?"

"I just… I have to know, Teek," he says. "What drove you to ask Angemon to kill you?"

Yep. There it is. Takeru swallows again, fighting the urge to stop walking. It's March, but it's still a little chilly, and even though he has a sweatshirt on, he wants to get to his brother's as fast as possible.

"Oh," he murmurs faintly. "That."

"Yeah," Yamato echoes. " _That._ "

Takeru stays quiet for several moments, if only to gather his thoughts. Because the truth is, he _didn't_ know if his plan would work. He was acting on instinct alone. And yet…

"I was… changing," he begins, uncertain. "I could feel these awful sensations. It was like… I can't even describe it. It was so uncomfortable. A… a _yearning_ for something, and I… maybe that was what the Shadows meant when they said they were hungry."

Yamato's eyes are on him, searching. Searching. Takeru looks down at the cement, watching his feet with each step he makes, and knows that his brother is waiting for him to continue.

"And… and I could see something that I couldn't see before. They told me that I was going to be their strongest. I could…"

He stops. Doesn't want to say it. Because he's done a pretty good job at _not_ thinking about it over the last twenty-four hours.

"What?" Yamato prompts in a whisper.

Takeru shoves his hands into his pockets, if only so his hands have a place to go. His heart is starting to beat faster. Faster.

"I could see… your energy, like it was a physical thing that I could touch. I could see the way your Shadow marks were feeding on it. It was… Nii-san, it was awful."

All of a sudden, he's shaking. He wants to blame the weather, but he can't. The image of those parasitic marks pulsing and feeding on his brother's life source was incredibly frightening, and thinking about it instills fear in him, like the Shadows have returned, like he isn't safe anymore. His skin crawls and he shudders. The sensation doesn't fade.

"Hey, hey, hey," Yamato murmurs gently, looping an arm around his shoulders. "It's ok now. We're both ok. I'm sorry that… that I reminded you of it."

Takeru's thankful for the added warmth of Yamato's arm, but he shakes his head. His brother deserves to know. He would want to know the reason why, if Yamato did what he did. He doesn't blame Yamato for asking.

"No," he says, voice noticeably weaker. Shakier. Repeats, out loud this time, "You deserve to know."

Yamato's quiet, but his arm remains wrapped around his shoulders as they walk. Takeru breathes in slowly. Exhales. Says, "They were all weaker than me. I could see their energy, too. It was like… I don't know, a little ball? The kids that you saw… Hibiki… and Ichirou… their strength was fading. Kind of like a flickering lightbulb. Keeping up the illusion of being children was only draining them more."

His hands ball into fists in his pockets.

"The one that pretended to be me was their real leader. It had more strength than the others. So I…. I thought about what Koushiro said… taking down their leader…"

He shudders again. He remembers vividly what it felt like, feeding on the energy of something else. The overwhelming power that followed. It was almost sickening, knowing that he was gaining strength from taking the life of something else. He was holding onto the last shred of humanity in him for dear life, and he'd been so close to losing completely. Thinking about it now makes him feel incredibly nauseous. His stomach squeezes. Squeezes.

He meant it when he said that school provided a decent distraction from his thoughts.

"Angemon's attacks are holy," Takeru says, releasing a slow breath. "I thought if I… got rid of the leader… and if Angemon could purify me… then they'd have nothing left. They didn't have a lot of strength to fight, anyway. The backlash of Angemon's attack would have wiped them out because they were so low on energy. It'd be like… a Perfect-level digimon taking out a bunch of Numemon."

He doesn't like the idea of senseless destruction, but the comparison does its job. Yamato nods slowly, like he's putting together the pieces in his head.

A part of him wishes Patamon had stayed here, just so he could hold him. So he could thank him for trusting him so blindly. But he knows that their partners need to regain their strength after such a tough battle, and the fastest way for them to do that is in the digital world.

"I see now," Yamato says finally, quietly. Then adds, "Takeru?"

"What?"

"Promise me you won't ever do something like that ever again," he pleads. "I almost lost you yesterday more times than I could count. You scared me _so much._ "

"I'm sorry," Takeru says, guilt lacing his voice. "I won't do it again… I just… I wanted to save you..."

Yamato's grip on his shoulder tightens, and he takes in a deep breath. Then another. Takeru looks at him with concern, and his eyes widen as Yamato suddenly starts to shake with laughter.

"I... I wanted to save _you,_ " he breathes out, shaking his head as if in amusement. "Takeru, do you realize how important you are?"

Takeru stops walking then, gaping at his brother like he's said something in a language he doesn't understand. A hazy image of Yamato sobbing yesterday flits through his brain. He doesn't remember all of what happened after the blast, because he was so groggy, but he does remember Yamato not leaving his side.

"I'm sorry," Takeru repeats, brokenly this time. His throat feels extremely tight all of a sudden. "I'm sorry I worried you so much."

Yamato squeezes him gently. Murmurs in a strained voice, "I'm just glad you're safe, Teek. It's over now. You did what you had to do. Don't be sorry."

They stand like that for a little while, and Yamato's warmth shields him from the early spring wind-chill. Then Yamato's tugging softly on his arm, nudging him to get him walking again, and when Takeru glances up he sees Yamato's apartment complex at the end of the block.

Just how long have they been walking? He isn't sure. He doesn't even know what time it is. He was so caught up in remembering what went down yesterday that he hadn't been paying attention to where they were at.

"Let's get some food in you," Yamato tells him. "I'll make dinner when we get there, 'k?"

"...ok," Takeru agrees with a small nod, allowing Yamato to guide him the rest of the way.

It doesn't take them long to reach Yamato's apartment building, and by the time they make it to the stairs, fatigue is hitting Takeru full-force. It's just like yesterday, when they found a place that acted as shelter, and they were both walking up the stairs with little to no energy…

"Hey, kiddo," Yamato says as they reach the top. "Don't pass out on me yet. You gotta eat first."

He laughs, mostly to himself, before saying, "I… can't figure out why I'm so tired. You'd think yesterday and last night would have been enough."

Yamato releases him to fish his apartment key out of his pocket so he can unlock the door. "You took out a whole race of monsters… that's gotta take a lot out of you. _I'm_ even a little tired."

_The whole… race…_

Takeru watches, abruptly frozen, as Yamato enters the apartment, suddenly hit with the realization that the Shadows are gone. The Shadows, who lured in small children with the power of illusion, promising friendship and not following through on it. The Shadows, who mercilessly kidnapped and murdered hundreds of innocents. The Shadows, who—

"Takeru?"

Yamato's looking at him now, examining his face. Worry is etched into his expression like a tattoo.

"Do you think… I could use Dad's computer?" he asks, eyes widening as he speaks.

"Um… sure," Yamato says, sounding confused. "What's wrong?"

Takeru moves swiftly, sliding out of his shoes with the grace of a young child, fueled only by the sudden urge to find an answer to the question now burning at the forefront of his mind. Yamato calls for him again as he bolts into his father's bedroom and flicks on the light. Barely pays any heed to the sound of Yamato shutting the apartment door. Footsteps confirm that his brother is following him.

He jams his finger against the power button of the monitor and doesn't really hear Yamato ask what he's doing. His leg bounces repeatedly as he waits, waits, waits for the computer to boot up.

It only takes a minute or two, but it feels like an aching eternity.

"Takeru," Yamato repeats, "you're scaring me. Please tell me what's going on."

"I just… want to see something," he answers distractedly, opening the search engine as soon as the computer is done loading.

"What do you mean by 'something'?"

Takeru doesn't reply.

He starts with their names.

Enomoto Hibiki. Kawasaki Ichirou.

Behind him, Yamato's breath catches. Takeru scrolls. Scrolls. No webpage links jump out at him, and his heart drops. Maybe he needs more keywords.

Disappearance. Missing. Family. Abduction. The words bring in very little results, and yet he still tries. He checks their names again. Again. He's desperate to find something, _anything._ But there's nothing. Everything he finds isn't related to the children in any way, shape, or form. When he's clicking the fourth tab to search deeper—to find some inconspicuous article, some kind of hint that could turn into a lead—Yamato reaches forward, placing a hand on his, forcing it to be still.

"Nii-san—"

"Takeru, no, you have to stop." He slowly guides Takeru's hands away from the mouse and keyboard. "Please."

"But—"

"How did you know their surnames?" he asks suddenly. "I… I never told anyone."

That makes Takeru go still. He swallows, finally submitting, and leans back in his dad's office chair, exhaling tremulously. "I… I heard them while they were talking to you. And… and then I remembered… when we were kids…"

Yamato's eyes widen as he trails off, and Takeru looks away. His eyes find the computer screen again, feeling rage build steadily in his chest.

"Takeru…"

"I thought that, since they were all gone… maybe there was a chance that those children would have been remembered." He swallows a second time. "A child disappearing would have some news coverage, right? Maybe it's just been a long time. Do you remember what kind of clothes they were wearing? Fashion has changed over the years, hasn't it? It might give us a time frame of when they lived—or maybe if I could find like, old newspapers or something—"

"Teek," Yamato says forlornly. Gently. "Stop."

He swerves the office chair, kneeling in front of it and placing a finger underneath Takeru's chin so their eyes meet. Tears make his brother's form blurry, but he doesn't blink them away. When they spill over his cheeks, Yamato wipes them away.

"I don't think killing the Shadows reversed the memory spell," he murmurs very softly, tenderly. "I think it was different for us. What's done is done."

Takeru sniffs. "So nobody will remember those poor children…"

"No, they won't," Yamato says. "But you've prevented any more kids from suffering, Takeru. No more kids will go missing because of them. Nobody will be hunted. They can't hurt anyone else, and it's _because of what you did._ So please don't blame yourself. What happened to them before is not your fault. Ok?"

Takeru sniffs again, throat feeling tight. Yamato's gaze is unwavering, waiting patiently for him to respond, and slowly, eventually, finally, Takeru nods.

"O-ok…"

Yamato pulls him close. Squeezes him reassuringly, pressing his cheek into Takeru's hair. The roles have been reversed—this time it's Takeru sobbing, and Yamato's comforting him. And he holds him until the computer puts itself to sleep, until Takeru's tears dry on his cheeks, until he stops shaking. Then, when he finally pulls away, he says, "What do you want for supper?"

The change of subject makes Takeru giggle, and he's not sure why. He blinks swollen eyes, throat scratchy from crying, and says, "I don't know. Whatever you want to cook."

Yamato helps him up from his chair, then turns to move the mouse to wake up the computer. It hums and he shuts it down without even trying to log in to close the pages.

"How about something rich in nutrients? You didn't each much yesterday."

"Alright," he says quietly. "Thank you, Nii-san."

Yamato pats his back slowly, affectionately. "You're welcome, buddy."

They make their way to the kitchen, and Takeru sits at the table as Yamato opens the fridge to look for the proper ingredients for whatever he decides to make. Takeru blinks as he watches him, still exhausted. All hints of adrenaline from earlier are now gone, and his crying spell certainly doesn't help.

"Nii-san?" he says groggily.

"Hmm?"

"Can… can I take a nap, or something? Is that ok?" He rubs an eye. "I'll wake up to eat… I'm just…"

_Tired,_ he wants to finish, but a yawn steals the rest of his sentence. Yamato closes the fridge and looks at him in concern.

"Yeah, you can take my bed if you want," he says, with a frown. "Here, I'll…"

He trails off, moving to the table to help him up once more, and guides him vigilantly to his bedroom. Flicks on the light, helping him to the bed, and any other time Takeru would have been embarrassed, but now he's too exhausted to care. He feels like he hasn't slept in _days._

"You warm enough?" Yamato asks when Takeru's bundled up underneath the blankets.

"Mm-hmm."

"Good," he says, with a quick nod. "I'll leave the door open, ok? And I'll wake you when supper's ready."

Takeru hums again, and he hears rather than sees shut off the light, and it's something insignificant, but for some reason that makes his eyes pop back open. "Nii-san… wait."

Yamato turns. "Yeah?"

"Can you…" He hesitates, because it seems so silly. But with all that he's experienced in the past few weeks… he can't help it. "...can you leave the light on, please?"

Yamato doesn't ask why. Doesn't laugh. Instead, he agrees, and flicks the lightswitch one last time. Then, softly: "Do you remember when we were kids, Teek?"

Takeru nods slowly. Sleepily.

"And Mom had this… nightlight," Yamato continues, voice quiet and nostalgic. "I don't know if she still has it. But she'd use it a lot…" He says something else, but Takeru doesn't quite catch it. He dips in and out of slumber like a person coming up for air after being underwater. "—do you remember that?"

Takeru hums, eyes fluttering.

Yamato sighs very softly. Takeru almost doesn't hear it. Then he feels his brother's hand on his head.

"I'll wake you up in a bit," he promises.

Takeru's asleep again before Yamato leaves the room.


End file.
